Charlie's Daughter
by completerandomness12
Summary: Charlie Swan is an international conman on the run from the FBI for the past 15 years. Edward Masen is an FBI agent with a score to settle against Charlie. When the FBI receives a tip, Edward uses unorthodox methods to track Charlie. He gets close to hotshot lawyer Bella Swan, Charlie's daughter and the last person to see Charlie face-to-face in the US in hopes of find his target.
1. Chapter 1

**I've had this little plot bunny in my head for two years. LOL. I finally got the time and energy to do something about it. **

**I own nothing of Stephanie Meyer. **

**Charlie's Daughter**

**BPOV**

September 13, 2002

"A little wider," the woman with the dentist mask asks politely.

"Awwww," I comply, extending my jaw as far as it can go.

"Thank you," she smiles with her eyes. "We're almost done."

"Ugh," I moan, rolling my eyes.

She'd been saying that for the past thirty minutes. I close my eyes and try to tune out the sound of wire and metal being cut. She continues asking me a string of yes and no questions to kill the awkward silence. I nod as best I can. I could care less about what she is trying to say. I just want this shit, her hands included, out of my mouth. Maybe if she concentrated on not jabbing that pointy thing in my gums instead of whether or not I had a date to my Homecoming dance I'd be done already.

This is not how I wanted to start my birthday.

I never understood people's obsession with needless conversation. It's why I don't watch game shows. No one cares about what the contestants do in their spare time. Poor, Alex Trebek. He looks bored out of his mind. Even he knows how pointless it is. However, I must admit that I do enjoy a good episode of The Price is Right. How long has Bob Barker looked that old? I mean…

"Okay," the woman grins, taking off her mask. "You're done," she holds up a mirror. "Smile," she requests.

I lick my lips and face the moment of truth. I smile tentatively in the mirror. It's not long before my smile is covering my entire face.

"Wow," I smile again, swiping my tongue over my teeth.

"No more braces for you," she says, marking something in my chart.

"Yeah," I blush at my new reflection.

Honestly, I don't think I really needed braces. With the exception of a slight gap between my two teeth, they were straight. Things tend to change when you add petty high school bitches that look for things to tease you about. Renee decided on a 'preemptive strike' and got it fixed. I rolled my eyes and told her that I was fine with it. She replies by mentioning how I'd love how they looked.

She was right. I think about how to admit I'm wrong without actually admitting it. Renee loves being right.

Afterwards, I go outside to have pictures taken of my new smile before going into the waiting room.

"It's been a pleasure, Ms. Swan," Dr. Dentin smiles, opening the door for me. As soon as I step outside, my driver exits the sleek Lincoln Towncar to open my door for me.

It's a short ten minute drive back to my apartment building. I exit the car and breeze past the doorman to the elevator.

"Ahhhh!" Kate ambushes me. "Let me see," she grins.

"Cheeeese," I joke, giving my best playful smile.

"Nice," she gives her nudge of approval. "You were cute before. You're unstoppable now," she raises an eyebrow.

Kate is your typical Mary Sue. You know…the girl who is so perfect that it's borderline annoying. She's absolutely gorgeous, smart, funny, rich, and has a kickass body. Her mom was a supermodel in the 80s' and her dad is the General Manager of the Boston Celtics.

"The boys don't stand a chance," she wraps her arms around my shoulder. "If you think about it, it's kind of not fair," she smiles.

"You're far too kind," I say, in fake modesty.

Did I mention she's the nicest person you'd ever meet?

"What's going on for your big day?" she asks. "You only turn sixteen once," she mentions.

"Father/Daughter…"

"Besides Father/Daughter Fenway," she rolls her eyes.

Every year to celebrate my birthday my Dad takes me to a Red Sox game with just the two of us. Mom hates sports.

"Movies and Chinese," I answer with no hesitation. "Seven. Be there or else."

"I don't want to be square," she rolls her eyes. "I'll tell the others," she waves, getting back on the elevator. "I'm off to get your fabulous gift."

"Okay," I laugh, opening the door.

I hear my mother and another man talking in hushed tones. He puts his hands on his hips like he's trying to assert some form of authority. Renee sinks in her chair and hands her head on the table. He steps forward and puts a hand on her shoulder. It's like he's trying to comfort her.

Something was off.

He takes a small box from his pocket and opens it. He takes a watch from the box and puts it on my mother's wrist.

What the fuck? Why is this stranger giving my mom gifts?

"Hey," I say sternly. The pair jumps apart at my presence. I see our guest's face. "Wow," I whisper. I immediately hope he didn't hear me.

There is literally NO way to describe how sexy this man is. Usually, I pride myself on having a way with words…but this guy? Adonis doesn't hold a candle to him. I've never seen someone whose face was so…proportional. It's as if God drew his face with a protractor and ruler to make sure each side was perfectly even. His cheekbones. God, his cheekbones. You could probably cut diamonds with them. He had a small bump on his nose like he'd broken his nose before. My eyes scan up to the most gorgeous blue eyes I've ever seen. They're so clear…like sapphires. His lips form a perfect wide smile that shows his pearly white teeth. I bet he didn't even need braces. The small dimple in his right cheek appears and he starts to laugh and shake his head at me.

Shit. He caught me ogling.

"Hey, sweetie," Renee perks up, wiping her eyes.

"Who's he?" I point to the stranger.

"Let me see," she gets up, trying to change the subject.

"O-kay," I say slowly, giving a half-hearted smile and ogling our visitor.

"Beautiful," she smiles, nervously moving her eyes back and forth from me to the other person in the room.

"I'm Bella," I break my mother's embrace and offer my hand to the elephant in the room. "You are…" I lead off.

"He's…" Mom tries to intervene.

"My name is Anthony," he smiles, shaking my hand. "I'm a friend of your mother's," he offers.

Renee's huff of indignation spoke differently. She begins to bite her lip obsessively, a habit I've seemed to inherit from her. She does it when she's nervous.

What's going on? Why is she nervous?

"Oh," I reply. I'm pretty sure I didn't sound convincing. Something was off.

"We…went to the same high school," she offers, pouring herself what looks to be bourbon.

Hard liquor at three in the afternoon? Yep. Something is off.

"We were catching up on old times," Anthony adds, leaning on the countertop. His gaze stops on the painting in our living room. I don't blame him. That thing is massive. It practically takes up the entire wall above the fireplace.

"Uh huh," I grab a glass and fill it with water. The deadpan in my voice gives me away. I don't care. I want them to know that I'm not buying what they are selling. "Sure."

"So…your mother tells me that you're really smart," he tries to make conversation. "You're graduating early." His eyes move to a vase my father brought back from his business trip to Italy last year. He takes it in his hands and tosses it from one end to the other. His gaze never leaves the portrait.

"In December," I elaborate. "A year and a half early."

"She's really proud," he stares at my mom. She averts her eyes. "What are your plans for college?" He stops tossing the vase and runs his gaze over it like he's studying it.

"I'm keeping my options open," I take a slow sip of my water.

"I should get going," Anthony sighs, setting the vase back on the table. "This is a really nice view," he smiles, pointing to the downtown skyline, expensive oak flooring, and furnishings. "Your husband has really nice taste," he grabs his jacket.

"I'll walk you out," I volunteer. I wasn't being nice. This guy gave me a bad vibe. I wanted him out of our house.

"It was nice meeting you," he smiles.

"Uh huh," I nod, shutting the door.

What the fuck?

"Mom…" I race back to the kitchen.

"Yes," she answers, pouring another tumbler of liquor.

"Who was that?" I demand to know. "Seriously?"

"A friend," she replies, taking the drink in one gulp.

"If you just met up today then why did he give you a gift?" I flick the watch on her wrist.

"This isn't…"

"DON'T LIE!" I yell, tears pouring out of my eyes.

Hushed voices.

He's here at the time Dad is out every day.

Secret gifts.

Being too nice.

There was only one explanation.

"You're cheating on Dad," I whisper, wiping my eyes.

"What?" she asks, irately. "Bella, no. Never."

"Bullshit," I hiss, yanking my arm away from her.

"You don't under…"

"I'm home!" Dad yells, as he enters the room.

"Kiddo!" my father wraps me in the kind of bear hug only fathers can give.

"Hey, Dad," I whisper in his ear. I hug him as tight as I can.

"Ouch," he jokes. "What's this all about?" he wipes a rogue tear from my face.

Your wife is cheating on you.

"You're not getting soft in your old age?" he asks.

"I just missed you. That's all," I smile, kissing his cheek.

"Good," he hugs me again. "We can't have tears ruining your sweet sixteen," he smiles, taking a wrapped box and giving it to me.

"Thanks," I take the box and put it on the table. "I think I know what it is," I hint.

"Of course," he hints back.

"I'm too old for these," I giggle, opening the wrapper to find another _Bella Bee_ adventures book.

My dad loved to draw. When I was seven he came up with a book idea called _Bella Bee_. If you haven't guessed it, it's a bee with my likeness that goes on adventures around the world. Now, every once in a while he'll draw another book. They're only about five or ten pages long. He used to tell me that way I got to go with him when he went around the world.

"Never," he replies. "You may not be a little girl but you'll always be my little girl."

"I prefer Bronte," I joke.

"Hey," he holds his chest like he's wounded. "You're going to miss those when I'm dead."

"Morbid," Mom crosses her arms. "I hate to talk about people dying."

"I didn't forget my beautiful, loving, wife," he beams. "Here you go," he gives my mom a beautiful bouquet of pink orchids. "Your favorite," he kisses her.

"Thanks, baby," she smiles, deepening the kiss.

I feel sick.

"Sixteen years ago, you gave me the prettiest little girl in the world," he kisses her forehead. "Other men think they have the prettiest wife in the world. They're all liars because I have the prettiest wife in the world," he places kisses all over her face and neck.

"Charlie. Stop!" Mom cries out. She's trying to sound playful.

"Look at this beauty," Dad points to me. "Show me that smile," he smiles. "Beautiful," he kisses my forehead. "Look at this," he holds up two Red Sox tickets. "I've come bearing so many gifts I almost forgot."

"Father/Daughter Fenway," I try my best to smile.

"Front row," he rubs them together. "We'll be able to see the sweat drip down their face. We're leaving in 15 minutes," he runs off to go change.

"How could you?" I ask my mother in disgust, as she puts her flowers in a glass jar.

"It's not what you think," her eyes start to water. "Please don't tell your father. Let's enjoy today," she reaches to touch my hair. "He's gone through so much trouble to make sure you have a good day."

"Save it," I huff, storming to my room.

I wash up and put on my Sox t-shirt, jeans, and Vans. I throw my hair in a quick bun.

"Ready?" he asks, peaking his head in my bathroom.

"Yeah," I put on my best smile.

"Madame," he says, in a faux French accent.

"Monsieur," I answer, looping my arm through his.

"Let's watch our boys kill those Yankee bastards," he leads me out the door.

"How was your trip?" I ask.

It makes me sick that Dad works so hard and my mother is doing this to him.

"Great. I did a lot of good business," he informs, throwing me the keys to his Porsche. "You drive," he hops in the car.

"Dad," I stop in my tracks.

My dad loves this car. He considers it his third child. He gets nervous when I look at it.

"It's your birthday," he shrugs. "You've got your license. Right?"

"But…"

"Don't kick a gift horse in the mouth," he warns, opening the door. "Go the speed limit. Stay in the lines. Don't kill us," he lists the three objectives.

"Easier said than done," I put the key in the ignition.

"Is it?" he asks, leaning back in the passenger seat. "Come on. We're going to be late."

"Fine," I put the car in drive and exit the parking garage. "We should take the train," I remind him.

"You're so tame," he chides me. "Where did you get that from?"

"Someone has to have common sense in this family," I reply.

"Smartass," he sticks his tongue out at me.

"It took us forever to get here," I point out, giving the valet the keys.

"It's not the destination. It's the journey," he 'steals' my nose.

"Ugh," I shove his arm.

"How's your day so far?" he asks, handing me a hotdog.

"Better," I huff, trying not to think about the epic shit storm that is coming our way.

"Bullshit," he calls my bluff. "Something is eating at you. What is it?" he takes a sip of his beer.

"Nothing."

"I'm a good listener," he reminds me. "It'll be like talking to yourself."

"Dad…"

"You'll ruin your birthday if you keep it in," he warns me. "You only turn sixteen once. It needs to be sweet…a sweet sixteen," he stares at me.

I look at the somewhat dopey look in his eyes and find my eyes starting to water again. He probably thinks that it's boy problems. It kills me that Mom is doing this to him but he deserves to know. I won't tell him. Not today.

"I'm PMSing," I lie, sounding embarrassed. "I'm all bloated and I feel so fat."

"Oh," he looks around awkwardly just as the crack of a homerun resonates through the crowd. "Ok."

"You wanted to know," I tease.

"I wish I hadn't," he shivers.

"I do too," I laugh at his obvious discomfort.

"My little girl isn't so little anymore," he stares at me. "I remember the first time I held you. I was the first person you saw," he kisses my temple. "I knew you'd be special," he hugs me from the side. "So…" he points to the giant jumbotron.

"Oh, God," I throw my head in my hands, as _Isn't She Lovely_ by Stevie Wonder starts playing along a montage of my childhood and Happy Birthday Bella written on it. It wasn't over. After the montage was done, Dad acted as a chorus conductor as the entire stadium sang me happy birthday. I blushed so red I was fucking burgundy. "Daaaaad," I cover my face in embarrassment.

"No more. I promise," he sits down. "We can watch the Sox win in peace."

He stayed true to his word. Unfortunately, the Sox didn't win but we still had a great time.

"You win some. You lose some," I sigh, turning the car on.

"Shit. We're going to be late," he hisses.

"Late? Where?"

"It's a surprise," he refuses to answer. "Punch it. We need to get home and get ready."

"Traffic," I point out.

"Drive aggressively," he counters.

"B…"

"I'm giving you permission to speed in my Porsche…with me in it," he points out. "Take advantage."

"When you put it that way," I smile, pressing my foot on the gas.

"Here you go," he pops the trunk on the car to hand me another box. I can tell by the shape and size that it's most likely a dress. "Get ready. We're going out."

"I was going to order Chinese food."

"You can do that anytime," he waves me off.

We race upstairs to find my mom in a stunning black dress and pumps. Her long blonde hair is curled down her back in waves. Her makeup is done to perfection. Her deep red lipstick even makes an appearance.

"Aren't I the luckiest man on Earth? I get to come home to this?" he picks her up and spins her around.

"You're ridiculous," she swats at him and blushes.

She almost looks like she loves him.

"You guys need to get ready," she reminds us. "Our reservations are at 9."

I take a quick shower and try not to concentrate on what I know. My attempts are in vain because I know this is going to destroy my father and my family. The one thing I loved most about my father is his capacity to love. He has the biggest heart and loves my mother with every fiber of it. I can't believe she'd do this to him after all he's done for her.

"Bitch," I take blow dryer to my hair.

In the interest of time, I put my hair in a twisted bun with wisps of hair around my temple. I don't really do makeup so I add some lip gloss and mascara and call it a day. In the box lies a midnight blue dress with lace sleeves. It comes down to mid-thigh and puffs out a little at the bottom. It reminds me a little of a dress from the 1960s. I pair the dress with nude shoes and a nude bag.

"Hot mama," Kate comes in. She has on a white dress with a gold belt and matching shoes.

"Thanks," I smile, looking in the mirror.

"Ladies," Dad ushers us out into the hallway. "It's time to go."

"Your dad is so cool," my best friend whispers in my ear. I look at my father in a dark blue three piece designer suit and can't help but agree.

My Dad has this debonair quality. Kate and I always joke that he's really a spy.

The four of us pile into the towncar and make it just in time before the hostess gave our table away.

"Nothing but the best for my kiddo," Dad smiles at me, as he sees me take in the scenery.

The restaurant has an open concept feel to it. The kitchen is located in clear view on the side so you can see the team cook your food. The walls are painted a chocolate brown and a giant gold chandelier creates the perfect ambient lighting. Dark hardwood floors create a nice contrast to all the metal work throughout the establishment. An older gentleman sits in the corner playing the grand piano.

We sit down and have a normal dinner. We talk about trivial things.

Has any boy caught your eye yet?

What college are you going to?

Are you going to stay somewhere near home?

Dad orders steak. I order chicken. Mom and Kate both order a salad.

Then, the cake.

"Wow," I smile, as the waiter brings the cake out. "It's gorgeous."

It's dark green with gold airbrushing on it. It's one of the weird cakes that are off center. It reminds me of something they would serve at the Mad Hatter's tea party. Happy Birthday is outlines in gold studs with a giant 16 topper on it.

"On three," Dad kisses mom's forehead, as the waiter lights the sparklers on top of the cake. "One…two…"

_Happy birthday to you_

_Happy birthday to you_

_Happy birthday dear Be…_

"Out of the way!" I hear before the sound of table screeching and cries of confused guests.

"What?" Kate asks.

"Oh, God," Renee starts crying. "Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God."

"Shit!" Dad hisses.

"What's going…"

"Charles William Swan," Anthony storms to our table. He since switched out of his regular jeans and t-shirt into a white button down, khakis, and an FBI windbreaker. "I have a warrant for your arrest," he flashes a stack of papers and tucks them back in his breast pocket.

"Renee…"

"Charlie," Mom starts crying.

"What?" Dad asks, somberly. I've never seen a man look so low.

"I love you. I love you so much. I'm so sorry," my mother whimpers.

"I don't understand," I start crying.

"Charles Swan, you have the right to remain silent. Anything you say…" Anthony starts reading off my father's rights like.

"Dad!" I cry, only to be held back by an agent when I attempt to walk to my father.

"You bastard!" Mom slaps against the FBI agent's arms. "You promised! It's our daughter's birthday party! You said you'd wait! You promised!"

"You knew?!" I cried. "You knew! This whole time you knew!"

She looks me in the eye. For once, I see the truth. My mother wasn't cheating on Dad. She was setting him up. That's an entirely new level of betrayal.

"It's okay, kiddo," Dad smiles sadly. "It's okay."

"Dad," I struggle against the agent's grip.

"Thank you for your cooperation," Anthony says somberly. "I know this can't be easy for…"

"Go to hell," I hiss at him. "Whatever you think my Dad did…"

"Listen, kid…"

"Don't call me that," I shout at him. Only my dad can call me kiddo.

"Your father isn't the man you think he is."

"I don't believe you," I tell him, still struggling to break free. "You're wrong."

"Bella," Mom hugs me. "You need to unders…"

"I understand," I seethe at her. "How could you do that?" I cry out. "How could you do that to Dad?"

She betrayed the man who loved her more than anything. How could she look him in the eye? How could she look me in the eye?

"Sweetie," Mom cries. "I love your father. But he's a crim…"

"Don't say it!" I break down. "Don't say that to me," I give up and sink to the floor crying.

Kate doesn't say anything. She just hugs me and tells me everything will be okay.

She's lying.

This will never be okay.

I don't know how long I cry. Minutes? Hours? It all runs together. Eventually, an agent picks me up and places the three of us in a squad car to take us home…what was left of it anyway.

"Oh my God."

The coffee table in the living room that my father sat his feet on when he got home from work is gone.

The sculpture on our entry way table is gone.

The china set he got my mother for their thirteenth wedding anniversary is gone.

The porcelain doll my dad got me when I was nine is gone.

The vase Anthony was enamored with earlier this afternoon is gone.

We came home in just enough time to see FBI agents taking pictures of the gigantic painting on our wall.

"Alright," the woman says, putting the camera back in its bag. "Take it down," she orders.

I watch as five men take the portrait from the wall and carry out into the hall.

Mom and I sit on the couch as I sit and wonder what the fuck is going on.

"Do you know what a fencer is?" Mom asks.

"No," I shake my head.

"It's okay," she sighs. "I didn't until last week."

"Mom," I feel my chest tightening up.

"Let's say someone steal something…something important," she starts. "They can't sell it by normal means because they'll get caught. So, they hire a fence. The fence buys the stolen good at a low price from the thieves and sells it on the black market for a profit."

"They think Daddy is a fence?" I ask.

They were wrong. My father wasn't a common criminal.

"Your father was a thief _and_ a fence," she starts giggling, as tears roll out of her eyes. "You know him. He was always trying to cut out the middle man."

"You believe them?"

"That painting was a Jackson Pollock that was worth 15 million dollars," she points to the empty spot on the wall. "The vase I put my flowers in belonged to the last Czar of Russia," she laughs.

"No," I shake my head profusely. I refuse to believe that about him.

"I love your father," she takes my head in her hands. "He's a great husband and an outstanding father but he's a criminal," she cries with me. "He needs to pay for what he did."

"I don't believe it," I get up. "I can't believe you sold him out without even talking to him."

"I did what I had to do," her voice cracks. "It kills me…"

"Whatever," I run to my room.

I shut the door behind me to find the latest Bella Bee creation sitting on my desk. In anger, I grab it and throw it against the rest of the books my father drew for me. I was angry. I wanted to scream, shout, and break things. Worst of all, I wanted my Daddy.

"You can stay at my house," I hear Kate from the other side of my door. "My parents won't mind. It has to be a little weird."

"Bella, honey, talk to me."

"Go away," I struggle. "I want to be alone."

"I get it," Kate sighs. "The offer still stands," she says.

I just stare at the ceiling and cry in peace. It wasn't until I heard a faint tapping on my window that I acknowledged the outside world. I wipe my eyes to see my father. His outfit is in disarray and his shoes are missing. He's carrying a briefcase. He looks ten years older. How can a man age so much in a matter of hours?

"Bella?" he whispers, tapping the door.

"D…"

"Shhh," he puts his hand over his mouth. "Come outside," I see him mouth.

"Da…"

"I don't have a lot of time," he says softly through the door.

"Okay," I grab my jacket and follow him onto the terrace.

We're in the penthouse of the building so we don't have to climb far to get to the roof top.

"Dad, what's going on?" I ask. He's the only person I trust to tell me the truth.

"I'm so sorry, kiddo," he hugs me close. "This is all my fault."

"They're saying horrible things about you," I say in his hear. "I don't believe them."

He doesn't say anything. He just stares at me. For the first time in my life I saw my father cry.

"Tell me it's not true."

Tell me you're not a criminal.

Tell me you don't steal for a living.

Be the man I thought you were.

"I can't," he shakes his head.

"No," I back away. "No. No. No."

"Bella, listen to me. I don't have a lot of time," he starts. "I know you're pissed. You have every right to be. You have every right to be pissed. You have every right to be ashamed of me because I'm ashamed of me," he pauses. I hear the sound of police sirens. "You are the best part of me. I meant what I said today. You're going to do great things. Promise me something," he looks me in the eye.

I nod.

"Promise that you'll reach your full potential. Don't let anyone lead you astray. Don't let anyone tell you that you aren't worthy of what you want. Please…please don't screw your life up trying to get back at me. Be better than me. Okay."

"Uh huh," I promise, my eyes filling up with tears.

"Don't settle. Never settle…not in life…never ever in love. You deserve the world. Got that?"

"Uh huh."

"Tell your mother that I'm not mad at her," he stuffs stacks of money from the suitcase in his jacket and pockets. "I'll always love her no matter what," I see him strap something around his body.

"Uh huh," I nod again, tears streaming down my face.

"Bella?"

"Yeah?"

"When you think about me, don't think of this," he motions to the scenario happening around us. "Think of Fenway. Okay? We'll always have that. I want you to go every year. Have a beer for me," tears fall, as he tries to laugh. The sound of the sirens is getting closer. The dark night is quickly becoming illuminated with red and blue police lights.

"Right behind home plate," I nod my head.

"Save me a seat," he kisses my forehead, before falling off the roof.

"Daaaaaad!" my heart stops, just before he starts flying through the Boston skyline and I see a parachute open.

That was the last time I saw my father.


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks for all the positive reviews. I've been going through "it" the past couple of weeks. I lost out on a job that I really wanted and was kind of bummed. Honestly, I still am. Anyway, I'm attempting not to think about it. So, I'm writing. C'est la vie. I'm not a lawyer. Cut me some slack on the law speak. LOL. **

**Ch.2**

Ridin' Solo

BPOV

_All the single ladies_

_All the single ladies_

_All the single ladies_

_Now put your hands…_

"Ugh," I huff, changing the channel. "Not today," I say to myself.

Any day but today.

I can't help but chuckle at the song choice of the playlist universe today. Some days it seems like your iPod reads your mind and plays exactly what you need to help you get through your day. I'm not sure if the powers that be were trying to be supportive or sarcastic about my situation. I decide that I should withdraw my judgment until later this evening.

I look at the clock beside my bed and see the red letters telling 3:30.

"Well, shit," I shake my head and change into some yoga gear. "I've got nothing else to do," I surmise and put in one of those in home yoga DVDs. I didn't get through the first fifteen minutes before my phone started to ring.

"Fuck," I hiss, attaching the blue tooth to my ear. If I concentrate hard enough, maybe I'll be able to hold the yoga position. I can't stop my eyes from rolling. Sometimes, I think some people at work wouldn't know how to wipe their asses if I wasn't there to walk them through it. Why in the hell we pay them so much is beyond me. "Yes," I answer, trying not to sound as pissed as I was.

"What crawled up your ass?" the voice on the other end replies.

"It's 4 in the morning," I point out. "You woke me up."

"No, I didn't," she lets out a snort. "You haven't slept past 3:30 since you were in high school."

"What do you want Renee?" I sigh, trying to keep my balance.

I immediately know what she wants. She wants to meddle in my business. It seems like it's the only thing she's good for…meddling in other people's business.

"Are you ever going to stop calling me by my first name?" my mother asks. I can practically hear her eyes roll.

"I've always called you by your first name."

"You know what I'm talking about," she mumbles. "You say it all…Re-nee," she mocks my tone.

"No. I don't know what you're talking about," I struggle to stay upright.

I do know what she's talking about. I stopped hiding my feelings toward my mother a long time ago. We know exactly where we stand with each other. I like it that way.

"Look," she pauses. "I'm just calling to see if you're…"

"I'm fine," I cut her off.

"Bella…"

"I'm fine…"

"You're…"

"If I weren't fine, I'd tell you that I wasn't fine," I cut her off again. "Since I'm not telling you that I'm not fine…it means that I'm fine," I say, hoping to end this attempt at a conversation.

"I know you're upset," she rushes out.

"Nope," I pop the 'p.' "I'm shocked at how **not** upset I am."

"Bella…"

"You know," I take a breath. "I learned pretty early on that betrayal is inevitable every relationship so I wasn't really surprised," I go for the jugular. I hang up before she responds.

I did not want to have this discussion today. Today, I was going to go to work and try to have a resemblance of a normal day. I didn't need any advice about how to deal with a broken heart from a woman who has had the upper hand in most every relationship she's ever had. She had absolutely NO idea how this felt. I've had to remind her of this repeatedly.

Bringing up Dad always seems to get her to shut up.

"Oof," I finally topple over to the ground. "Let's not do this," I compromise with myself and turn off the DVD. I'm far too uncoordinated for yoga. I settle for a few sets of crunches and thirty minutes on the treadmill.

I've become somewhat obsessed with personal fitness lately. It's one of the few things besides work that can keep me centered. I just tune out the world and listen to the sound of my feet hitting the track coupled with the feeling of my heartbeat elevating. It's a steadying feeling. I hear my phone buzzing from my side table and know it's time to get ready for work.

Once I dry off from my shower, I dry my hair. I carefully roll my hair up and let it sit. I apply my makeup to give myself a natural look. Sometimes, I laugh to myself about how I would roll my eyes at the very mention of makeup. I took my teenage years for granted. As soon as I turn 21, I understood my gender's obsession with the stuff. Without it, I look like the crypt keeper… with better hair.

I'm taking my time. I NEED to look great today.

I flip the switch in my closet. As each light on the chandelier flickers on one by one, I slowly take in the options I have for the day. I take the new Dolce & Gobana black and blue checkered blouse and lay it on the island. I pair it with my high waist black trouser pants. I walk along the wall that houses my shoes and decide my black Gucci stilettos and navy Loubiton peep toe pumps. Blue. Definitely blue. It pops with the outfit better. I place the items on the island.

My phone buzzes with a text messages. It's Kate.

**Kate: You. Me. That bar down the street from your apartment.**

**Me: Ugh. **

**Kate: Dress sexy. We have to celebrate.**

I open the drawer underneath the table and pick out my sheer black La Perla bra and panty set. They're my power panties. I feel my inner goddess start to emerge and I slide the smooth fabric up my thighs. I put the rest of my clothes on. My hair isn't curled yet so I go to the kitchen and grab some fruit salad and a bottle of water. I sit at the kitchen table and stare at the view of the Boston skyline from my high rise apartment. I look down and see traffic starting to rise and bang my head against the glass wall. I finally take the rollers out and finish my hair. I grab my blazer and glasses and exit to wait for the elevator. Luckily, my glasses hid the disappointed look on my face when the elevator doors opened. At least, I hope they did.

The raised eyebrow the woman in the elevator greets me with speaks volume. I offer up my Cheshire grin and step in the elevator.

"Good morning," Jane Volturi greets in a sing song voice.

"Hey, Volturi," I lean on the bar on the opposite side of the elevator.

There are two kinds of people in the world.

Coke and Pepsi.

Microsoft and Apple.

Marvel and DC.

Tupac and Biggie.

Xbox and Playstation.

Beyonce and Rihanna.

Then, there is me and Jane. She's had it out for me since my freshman year of college. It turns out that there was another young intellectual prodigy on campus by the name of Jane Volturi. It seems whenever young intellectuals were brought up, Jane and I were constantly compared to another. It wasn't because we were both smart. It was because we were young, smart, beautiful…women. In their eyes, there could only be one. I didn't really care. I went to class, did my work, and came home. Jane, on the other hand, cared. She cared a lot. It seemed as though she became obsessed with beating me at everything. Apparently, I was the only person who truly gave her a challenge. I'd heard of her but never saw her until she transferred into my debate class. It scared the shit out of me when she maintained eye contact with me for a solid 30 seconds, smiled, and sat down in front of me. If I didn't know any better I'd think she took that class just to attempt to show me up.

"You're ready for this afternoon?" she asks, taking a file from her purse and shaking it in front of me.

"Of course," I nod. "I've been ready since yesterday. The fact that you're still studying those case files have me disappointed," I reply, with a sad face.

"I look forward to wiping that smirk off your face," she tells, checking her iPhone.

"Well…" I start, as the elevator dings. "I hope you like disappointment," I smile, stepping out.

I walk down the walkway to the doorman.

"Mrs. Swan ," Dave smiles, opening the door.

"Thank you," I grin at him, and walk to my Towncar.

As my driver opens my door I hear Jane say, "Give the husband my regards," causing me to stop in my tracks. She smiles, sauntering down the street.

Bitch.

Honestly, I should have anticipated that one.

I shake off the comment and go to work. Nothing else is going to phase me today. I enter the office building with a smile on my face and a pep in my step. I exit the elevator to the sound of construction workers yanking down a part of the Shepherd & Associates sign. It makes this horrible **_bang bang**_ sound. Now, it's just Shepherd &.

_**Bang Bang**_

Great. I'm going to be hearing that sound all day.

"Hey, Bella," Caroline, my assistant greets me with a cup of coffee and my schedule for the day printed out. "You have that meeting in twenty minutes," she points out on the paper. "Then, Peter wants to see you in his office. Then…"

"Thank you," I nod. "I can read," I smile, holding up the schedule in my hand.

I enter the main hallway and everything stops. Here it goes. I plaster a smile on my face and shake my head at the collective awkwardness that is penetrating the room. I make my way to my new office and sternly inform that there is "Nothing to see here people," and turn the corner.

"Okay, Ms. Swan," the contractor gets up from his chair and shakes my hand. "We put the wall in like you asked," he shows me the new office space. "It's still huge. The original office was gigantic to begin with," he explains, the giant clear wall going down the middle of the room. "Just flick a switch and you have instant privacy," he demonstrates and the wall changes from crystal clear to opaque.

"Great job," I smile, putting my things down in my new office.

I turn on my computer and check up on some e-mails. A tentative knock on the door brings me back to reality.

"Hey, Angela," I greet, clicking Send on one of my notes. "What's up?" I keep it casual, taking a sip from my coffee.

"Nothing," she replies quickly. He leans on the edge of my door and just looks at my office. "They did a nice job with your office," she makes small talk.

"With all the money it costs, they better have done a nice job," I chuckle.

She laughs with me in the standard awkward tone. I can tell she wants to talk about it. However, I don't think she has the...

"How are you..."

"Fine," I shake my head. "Although, I may be tempted to strangle the next person who asks me that question," I raise my eyebrow.

"Sheesh," she steps back slowly. "I'll try not to care next time," she jokes. I playfully give her the finger.

*Ping*

I look at my computer and my calendar notification for the meeting pops up.

"I gotta go," I grab my sunglasses and put them on.

"Yes," she giggles. "We have to go scare the shit out of some first years."

"It's the highlight of my day," I wave to her and I see the giant sign on the wall is finally finished. I can't erase the smile on my face. It nearly tears my face in two.

_Swan/Shepherd & Associates_

_"_It sounds better with your name first," Peter Shepherd sneaks up behind me. "So?"

"It's fucking awesome," I whisper, in awe.

"Twenty eight and partner at the top law firm in Boston," he nods his head in approval. "That's not bad."

"Damn right," I smile, before turning to the stairs.

My day just got infinitely better because I knew that no matter what happened today...I was partner at a law firm and I was fucking proud of myself.

"How many are there?" Peter asks, following me upstairs to the conference room.

"Six," I hand him a packet with pictures and resumes in it.

"Nice," he smiles, looking the names over. "You ready?"

"Of course," I smooth out my outfit. "Good cop/Bad cop?"

"Always works," he smiles, opening the door for me.

We step into the hallway and hear the sound of constant chatter. I imagine them sharing gossip about things they've heard since being hired. I'd even bet they're scoping out the people who they may be shadowing over the year. Peter and I look at each other and laugh a bit to ourselves. He opens the door and the talking stops instantly.

"Hello," He smiles, sitting at the head of the conference table.

"Hey," I curtly add, sitting at the opposite side of the table. "We should keep this brief," I look to my phone and the theme from Candy Crush resounds through the room.

I always play the bad cop. For some reason, a mean woman scares the shit out of people. The routine doesn't have the same effect when Peter is the bad cop.

"You'll have to excuse Bella," he waves me off. "She's brash."

"Effective," I counter.

"However, she is right. We all have things to attend to."

"I have mediation in forty five minutes," I tap my watch.

"On behalf of the firm I'd like to offer you all a warm welcome," he starts. "We've taken our time with each of you and have no doubts that you are the true cream of the crop. I can't stress enough that we're family at Swan/Shepherd. We succeed as a team and we fail as a team. We're not only here to win cases and make a lot of money," he jokes, causing a case of church giggles. "We're here to nurture you into the fine lawyers you are destined to be," he grins, sitting down. "Bella?" he questions and I know it's my turn to be the Mr. Hyde to his Dr. Jykell.

"Thank you for the feels," I smile, handing the stack of resumes to the man to my right. "Take yours and pass it along," I roll my eyes when he acts confused. "Context clues, Davis," I point to my head.

"Fuck," he whispers, passing the stack along.

"I'm sure you're all familiar with your resumes," I grin. I see a few beam with pride at their accomplishments and stick their heads up high. "I want you to pass your resume to the person on your right...and so on and so on. Stop when you receive yours back," I order. I watch some look at the papers like they are impressed. Others giggle when they feel their achievements have more merit. "Are we done?" I ask.

"Yeah," they all smile, holding their papers up.

I think about my next move and smile sinisterly.

"Tear it up," I demand. They all look at me like I'm insane. "You heard me. Tear it up," I repeat. "You want to know why?" I ask. "Because starting as of now... nobody cares," I look at the wall on the clock. "Someone in this room graduated magna cum laude from Harvard. I don't give a shit," I start. "Another person was ranked in the top 20 in mock trials. I don't give a shit. I don't care about the non profit you started in your junior year in the least," I add. "Why? Because it doesn't matter. A judge won't care about that. It's about what you can do inside of a courtroom. I once saw a graduate from Wichita State wipe the floor with someone who had honors from Yale. Yeah. That happened," I nod my head. "The law is like the force. Either you have it or you don't. We hired you because you have that one thing that can't be found on paper. Don't make us regret hiring you," I end my rant and go back to my level on Candy Crush.

"O-kay," Peter looks at me. I can see him fighting his smile. "You'll shadow on of our lawyers over the next two months. During that time, you can rotate in other departments but you essentially are with that one person. If you do land me or Bella we'll try our best to be there for you. However, take in mind that we are partners and very busy people."

"Pick your poison," I pass a fishbowl with names of those who volunteered to be shadowed. Peter and I put ourselves in to sow solidarity. We never get picked though.

"Weber."

"Davis."

"Parker."

"Long."

"Swan," I hear my name called out.

Fuck.

I hear Peter smiling. He knows I hate dealing with first years. They're so damn needy.

"Alright," my partner claps his hands. "I'll give you guys that grand tour and I'll show you to your mentors."

I guess I have to make the best of this situation. It's not like I'll be seeing much of her anyway.

"Not you," I point to my mentee. "We'll do that later."

"But..."

"I have more pressing matters," I tell her.

"Uh...okay," she stammers.

"What's your name again?" I ask. I forgot to memorize the resumes before they ripped them up.

"Bree," she nods her head. "Bree Tanner."

"How old are you?" I ask, genuinely interested.

"25," she admits like she's embarrassed. "I know I look young. I still get carded to see R-rated movies," she chuckles.

She has her work cut out for her. There is no way people are going to take her seriously. She looks twelve. Plus, she's wearing a headband.

"Welcome aboard," I tilt my head towards my office. "In addition to your own cases, you may have the opportunity to see me in action. Today, I have a pretty decent case you can see in action," I tell her. Her eyes light up.

"Really?" she smiles. "What's..."

"Read up," I pile the notes on the case in front of her lap. "We're leaving in 15 minutes," I notify and a wad of paper hits my door. I look to my side and Peter is waving me over. "We're leaving when I get back."

"Yes, sire," I sit down in his office.

"You were laying it a little thick," he starts chuckling. "You went straight up gangsta on 'em," he jokes. He always says that when he's trying to be funny.

"Bitches got'sta learn," I reply. His laughter grows. "Wassup?"

"This is a pretty good case," he starts. "Are you..."

Oh no he didn't.

"No. Do NOT do this," I warn him. "I don't need this from you too," I hiss at him. "My work has never suffered from my emotions. You know that."

I'm so over people treating me like a pariah. I don't get what the big deal is. I don't need pity. I need everyone to do their fucking job. I was done laying nice about this. The next person to ask me if I was fine was going to get their head bitten off.

"I wasn't talking about that," he snaps back.

"I need to leave if we're going to be on time," I point out.

"Fine," he goes back to his computer. "We'll talk later."

"Great," I get up.

"Your car is ready, Bella," Caroline announces. "You need to leave now."

"Tanner," I call out.

"I'm here," she runs out, putting the folders in her large purse. "I'm caught up. I think."

"Never say 'I think'. Ever," I advise her. "It makes you look weak. You always need your client to think you're in total control," I ramble off. "I know. I'm certain. Got it?"

"Yeah," she nods. "Bella?"

"Yep?"

"What's that gong for?" she asks.

"You'll figure it out," I wiggle my eyebrows and step into the elevator.

"I'm so excited," Bree smiles from ear to ear.

"No," I stop her knee from bouncing. "Law is like poker. Don't give your hand away."

"It's nice what you're doing...pro bono and all," she smiles at me. "I mean it's worth a ton of money but not many people would give this lady a second look."

Luckily, traffic isn't too bad and we get to the mediator's office with 10 minutes to spare.

"Good," the busty blonde gets up from her chair and hustles over to us. "That lady brought more people with her. I thought this was going to be a simp..."

"Shhh..." I calm her. "It's a scare tactic. They'll each state their name and their fancy degree from whatever ivy league school to intimidate you into settling for less than you deserve," I tell her. "Whatever you do...do NOT talk," I order her.

"But..."

"Shhh," I quiet her again. "They will try to intimidate you. If they say an offer you find attractive poke my leg. If you want them to fuck themselves pinch my leg. Don't argue with me. It will make us look weak. I need you to trust me. Got it?"

"Okay," she nods profusely. "I just want this to be over."

"This ends today," Bree rubs the woman's shoulder.

"Alright," I open the office door. "Don't disappoint."

"Swan," Jane grins an impish smile. "Is it bring your child to work day?" she points to Bree who seems to be seething at the red headed woman next to my nemesis.

"You," Bree hisses at the pale sidekick who has features like a cat. It's weird.

"Me," the red head chuckles. "Nice headband," she gives a backhanded compliment.

"Bella, meet Victoria," she points to woman to her side. "She's my new first year. She reminds me of...me," she beams.

"This is Bree," I introduce. "She'll be helping me kick your ass today."

"Hello. My name is Stephen Pitts," the mediator starts. "Now that we have trash talked we can begin," the mediator begins. "In the case Dawson v. Stoker, please state your name for the record."

Just like I predicted Jane and Victoria named their degrees and smiled as my client shook with angst.

"Ms. Dawson is suing Mr. Stoker on the grounds of...wrongful termination," the Pitts reads off the paper.

" Mr. Pitts, this lawsuit is nothing but a vendetta against an innocent man by a former employee," Jane starts. "Her accusation holds absolutely no merit. Save us all time and motion for summary judgment."

"How about you give us what we ask for and we can all squeeze in a mani/pedi before lunch," I counter.

"My client carried on an affair with her employer Mr. Stoker for an eleven month period," I state. "When her conscience got the best of her and she dumped him, she was terminated under false pretenses so her for former lover wouldn't have to deal with her anymore," look at Stoker who rolls his eyes. "If that's not wrongful termination, I don't know what is."

"Let the record show that Ms. Dawson has no proof," Victoria pipes in, scribbling something on her notepad.

"I beg to differ," I hand Jane a list of receipts. "We have copies of money deposits made in my client's bank account that were intended to pay rent for her apartment and car."

"My client did not make those deposits," Jane counters. "His name isn't on the master account that the funds from. It's not about what you think you know. It's about what you can prove."

"If you take a look at a corporate account from the defendant's company the same amount was drafted every month. It's the same amount of my client's rent and car payment which is a total of thirty six hundred dollars. ."

"Please," Jane rolls her eyes. "My client runs a multi-million dollar company. He tends to make hefty withdrawals on a regular basis."

"The plaintiff broke up with my Mr. Stoker in late April. In early May, the payments ceased along with the amount that was normally taken out. I think that says something."

"Once again, my client runs a multi-million dollar company. That money could have come from anywhere," she repeats. "Ms. Dawson has no concrete proof of this so-called relationship," she uses air quotes.

"On May 5, my client was fired..."

"For excessive absences," Jane interrupts. "The plaintiff was absent from her job 35 days within a 60 day period."

"That's a lie," I call her out. "My client has only been absent a total of three times in the past year."

"Here is a print out of the plaintiff's report," Jane passes a print out forward. "Here is the itemized list of her absences claiming personal reasons."

"The three times my client was absent is because she was traveling back and forth to New York to visit her dying mother at the time," I show airline tickets as proof.

"Well I guess she was just playing hookie the other thirty two times," Victoria adds.

"I'm sure your client is aware that the software system his employees use to clock in their hours keep a log of when people enter in their hours and for how long," I smile at her. "On May 4th, the day before she was fired, someone logged into the system. Whoever logged into the system spent a grand total of 45 minutes doctoring...something. The questions is...why would someone need 45 minutes to type 9,5, or N/A for a one day period," I start. "I should also mention that the log shows someone made changes on...you guessed it...32 days."

"3," Jane deadpans.

"3 million?" I scoff. "That's not nearly enough. Everyone knows in my client's field that if you're fired on unfriendly terms your career is over. Ms. Dawson has tried to find a replacement job for over a year. It's nearly impossible without a recommendation. Your client has refused to write her one out of spite."

"Oh no," my adversary giggles. "That's three...as in three people. There are three people who have the head of HR's personal pin to enter in that information. Any one of them could have done it. It doesn't prove that my client personally did anything."

"So someone at the defendant's company entered in false information to get my client fired. That's good enough for me."

"That's if it was done on purpose," Jane counters. "It has been well documented that the software used by my client's company is slowly being phased out due to many system crashes. It's plausible to believe the entering of that information was simply a glitch."

"She was still fired without proper cause."

"My client thought he was operating under correct information."

"That's funny," I pull out a thick handbook. "The guidelines stated in the employee handbook, which both clients read and took a test on, states that before any employee is fired they must receive a written and verbal reprimand from their superior. Let the record show that my client was given no formal warning- verbal or written- that said her absences were unacceptable. Had she known this was an issue she would have made alternative plans," I add the test scores to the pile. "Stoker failed to follow the guidelines. Therefore, her firing was unfair," I shrug.

The old man coughs and puts a stop to Jane and my verbal tennis match. He whispers into her ear and slips her a piece of paper. She shakes her head and squints her eyes at me and writes what I assume to be an offer on a piece of paper. He nods.

"My client realizes that he acted out of turn. He should have checked the disciplinary files before firing Ms. Dawson. We're willing to offer a one-time cash settlement along with a glowing written recommendation," she slips the paper across the table at me. I show my client.

_$500,000_

I'm pretty sure I'm going to have a bruise on my leg because she pinched me so hard. I quickly scribble a significantly larger number.

"This is what we're thinking," I slide the paper back.

_$5,000,000_

Mr. Stoker shakes his head vehemently and crosses his arms. He whispers to Jane. My number is scratched out and replaced with another number.

"This amount in addition to her old job back and a 20 percent pay increase," she states.

_$750,000_

My client starts doing this weird poke/pinch thing. She's tempted to take it. That's scraps compared to what she's owed.

"Pssh," I scoff. "Really?" I cross my legs. My client takes this time to poke my leg.

"If you're looking for some big settlement you won't get it," Jane says sternly. "This is the standard settlement for wrongful termination suits. Personally, I don't think you deserve that. You have until 5pm to agree. If not, we'll see you in court," her side of the table gets up.

Dawson has an audible gasp. She moves to speak.

"Shhh," I soothe her. "Trust me."

"Trust won't get you more than our original offer. If we go to court our offer drops in half," she smiles at me and goes to the door.

"I thought you'd say that," I sigh, grabbing my things.

"Bella?" Bree starts frantically. "I thought we weren't supposed to go to court."

"I don't like this," my client shakes her head. "I think we should..."

"Shhh..." I calm them both down. "Follow me," I lead them into the hallway.

"Good luck, Tanner," Victoria waits for us as we're leaving the room.

Our group walks to the elevator and find ourselves waiting with the enemy. The bell rings and we all cram into the elevator. I put on my sunglasses to better survey my competition. Jane is looking at me with a triumphant look on her face. Victoria parrots her facial expression towards Bree. The young girl curls into herself against the bar of the elevator. The defendant talks on his Bluetooth.

They're so oblivious.

"We need to push the meeting until 4," Stoker speaks out loud. "That lawsuit thing ended early. Whatever. We can take 'em in..."

"Oh my God!" a blonde busty woman calls enters the cramped space. "Marvin Stoker?" she asks.

"Whose asking?" he asks, his eyes going to her cleavage.

Barbara, my client, huffs in disgust and shoves her way through the crowd.

"I was there when you spoke at my school about hedge funds," she says bashfully. "You were inspiring."

"I try," he runs his fingers through his hair.

"I'm working on my thesis for my doctorate," she informs. "May I interview you sometime? It would take it over the top," she asks, smiling at him. "I'd be forever in your debt," she blushes. "Please?"

"Sure," he gives a perverted grin and shakes her hand.

"Mr. Stoker?" she asks, still shaking his hand.

"Yes?"

"You've been served," she yanks her hand away and pulls out a manila envelope.

"What?" everyone but me shouts.

"Please sign here," she offers him a pen.

"Jane," he hisses at his lawyer.

"You have to," she huffs, glaring at me.

"Thanks," the busty woman takes her pen back and steps off the elevator.

"What the fuck?" Stoker shouts.

"I know," I raise my finger. "That's the sexual harassment suit from my client," I pat Barbara's back.

"Good luck trying to prove that," Jane crosses her arms.

"I've been holding something back," I confess, taking a piece of paper from my pocket. "I should just read it," I take my glasses off. I clear my throat and start from the top.

_Hey Sugar Tits, _

_I can't express how excited I am to see you today. I can't stop thinking about your pouty lips around my cock. I get so hard thinking about it I might cum in my pants. Wear that sexy red dress you wore last week. It makes your tits look nice._

_-Daddy_

"This was written a week before Barbara was fired. I think we all know who Daddy is," I put the note back in my pocket. "It won't take a rocket scientist to figure out this is your handwriting," I speak to Stoker. "You're right, Jane. It is about what you can prove," I admit.

"Imagine the narrative. Stoker became obsessed with Barbara-writing sexually inappropriate letters- on company letterhead. When my client spoke to him like an adult and asked him to stop he fired her. The thought of her not wanting him made him so mad that he tried to ruin her life. You're right. I can't prove the affair. However, I can prove this," I pat my pocket. "I can only imagine what this will do for your image," I speak to Stoker. "Aren't you planning on running for office?" I ask. Jane and Victoria gasp. "Yeah. I know about that." I nod. "I mean...it's not like you can admit to cheating on your wife and three children. Not only would it make you look bad. You've already gone on formal record denying every accusation of sexual contact with her. You even paid a top attorney to disprove any plausible way you could have cheated," I congratulate him. "Ouch," I say in a hurtful tone.

"Barb didn't want to make herself the center of a public spectacle but your client's stubbornness has given her no choice," I sigh. "Look at her face. The jury will fall into her hands...a woman's whose only crime was being too beautiful," I say in a far off tone. "I trust that I'll have a reasonable offer...before we drive away," I smile, exiting the elevator. "Bree," I beckon her.

"Oh my..."

"Contain yourself," I smile at her excitement. "Wait until we get a settlement first."

"I didn't know you were going to do that," Barbara admits. "We talked about it but..."

"We both know $750,000 doesn't scratch the surface of what you suffered. I wasn't going to let that fucker get away with that."

"How do we know he'll..."

"WAIT!" the man rushes out to catch us. "Fine. $5 million," he struggles to catch his breath.

"7," I counter.

I'm a little pissed about that stunt Jane pulled.

"But..."

"That was then," I shrug. "Besides, that's the average amount for high profile sexual harassment suits. I thought we were going by average," I bring up their attempt to low ball us earlier.

"Fine," he huffs. "She signs a gag order."

"Done," Barbara shakes Stoker's hand.

"Wait," I take out an official document for him to sign.

"I can't believe this," he scribbles his name.

"Wow," Bree looks at me. "That was amazing."

"I know," I check my schedule. "I'm number one for a reason," I remind her.

"You're like a prodigy. Right?"

"Eh," I shrug, exiting the car.

Bree prattles on and on about what just happened. I tune her out for the most part.

"You wanna see what the gong is for?" I ask.

"Yeah," she giggles.

"Okay," I go to my office and grab my baton. It's dark blue with Swarovski crystals on it. Bree looks at me like I'm an escaped mental patient. I walk up to the gigantic brass gong and bang it as hard as I can for all to hear.

"Yay!" everyone throws their hands in the air and starts cheering. As Angela walks by she starts singing. We all join in.

_We are the champions my friend._

_And we'll keep on fighting to the end. _

_We are the champions. _

_We are the champions. _

_No time for losers cuz we are the champions...of the world._

"That's what the gong is for," I tell her. "Everyone has their own baton. When you win a case you bang the gong to signal your victory. Who doesn't love Queen?" I chuckle.

"Awesome."

"Weber," I signal Angela over. "Take Bree for the rest of the day and let her play with the other kids," I joke.

"That's the third gong today," Peter leans against the wall. "That a good feeling."

"We got $7 million," I answer his question before he can ask it. "Small talk isn't your strong suit."

"Shit," he bites his knuckle. "That two more than we wanted."

"Stoker was a limping gazelle. I did what any predator would do," I sigh.

We sit and stare around the office for a minute before I get back to taking notes on one of the cases. It's still awkward as hell.

"So..."

"Yeah," I click my pen to signal the end of the conversation.

We each go back to our respective offices and go on about our day. It was a blur of meetings and consultations but I got through it. Before I knew it everyone was gone...mostly everyone. I walk back upstairs to the conference to find my husband waiting for me at the table.

It's time to get divorced.

"Hey," I whisper.

"Hey," he responds.

I look at his tired appearance and for the first time he actually looks like the 42 year old that he is. He's loosened his tie and taken off his jacket. His hands are in his lap and he's looking at me with his childlike eyes. He runs his hands through his salt and pepper hair. It always amused me how my husband looked young and old at the same time.

"You look beautiful," he compliments softly.

"You're wearing my favorite suit," I notice. "It brings out your eyes."

"I know," he smiles at me. "I guess we both needed to look nice today."

"Ready?" I ask, sitting down across from him.

"No."

"Peter," I sigh, putting my head in my hands.

I met Peter when I was nineteen years old. I'd graduated college in three years and immediately started law school. He'd worked under my professor and was speaking to us as a favor. He was so smart. At first, I just wanted to pick his brain. Then, I realized how caring and gentle he was. Before I knew it, I was married at twenty two. That was six years ago. At least we lasted longer than most thought we would.

"I don't understand," he touches my hand. "Everything was going so well."

"We both know it wasn't," I gently take my hand away.

"We haven't tried counseling," he tries to look me in the eye.

We'd started growing apart the past few years. The only time we really talked was about work or when he wanted sex. Something was missing. Then, I started wondering if we ever had that "something" in the first place. Then, it just fell apart when I saw him with her. He has to know it too. Deep down he knows. We're not compatible anymore.

Were we ever?

"Are you sure you don't want the house?" I ask. We owned a beautiful brownstone. It'd been vacant since I filed for divorce. Neither of us had been there since.

"No," he crosses his arms. "It's too big for just one person."

"It's too big for two people," I try to joke. "We'll sell it and split the profit."

"How's the apartment?"

"It's great," I smile. "It's spacious. It's got a kick ass view and a walk-in closet. What's a girl not to like?"

"Nice," he nods in approval.

"We're splitting..."

"I didn't sleep with her," he pleads with me. "I didn't even kiss her. You're being ridiculous."

"It's not about that."

He's telling the truth. I know he is. I just can't live the lie that we're in love anymore. I wanted something more. I wanted to feel how my dad felt about my mom.

"Then what is it about?"

_"Don't settle. Never settle…not in life…never ever in love. You deserve the world. Got that?"_

"We don't love each other anymore, Peter," I make is plain. "You know it. Don't you want more?"

"Is this about kids?" he asks, confused. "If you want kids we can have kids."

Now, I'm mad. Peter made it abundantly clear when we got married that he didn't see himself with kids. I was twenty two at the time. I was a kid myself and had absolutely no desire for children. Now, a small portion of me wanted to have children but that wasn't the core of our problem.

"What the fuck?" I sit up in shock. "Who uses children as bargaining chips? No. It's not about kids."

"I just want to..."

"Stop," I interrupt. "Your soul mate is out there. She's just not me. You'll find someone that will make you thank me for making this decision. You don't love me Peter. You're just too stubborn to see it," I sign the papers and slide them over.

"Bella," he sighs, staring at my signature.

"Let me go," I plead, tearing pricking at my eyes.

"Okay," he says softly, signing his name. "Here," he slowly takes a check from his pocket. "It's your divorce settlement," he hands it to me.

"Peter..."

"I insist," he cups my hands around it.

"Fine," I put the paper in my purse.

"Bye, Bella," he kisses my forehead.

"Thanks for putting my name first. It was a nice gesture," I hug him.

"It really does sound better," he says in my ear.

"See you tomorrow," I break our embrace.

"I'll file it in the morning," he nods sadly.

"Thanks," I exit the room and go home.

I walk to my closet and pick a black silk dress with a draped bottom and black lace stilettos. The front is low cut so I add a simple gold necklace to go with it. I put half of my hair up to change my hair. I add a dark red lip and a smoky eye and walk over to the bar. That's one of the things I liked about my apartment. It was in the middle of the city. I could walk most places.

"Over here!" Kate waves her hands to get my attention.

"Hey, beautiful lady," I greet my best friend and hug her.

"Hey, you sexy, divorced bitch," she pushes a tequila sunrise towards me.

"Woah," a guy with tiger stripes tattoo approaches Kate. "You look like..."

"Echo," Kate finishes for him.

"It's amazing," he takes out his phone. "Can I?" he puts the screen up to her.

"Yeah," she says, posing still. "I get it a lot."

"Are you..."

"Taken," she squashes the man's hopes.

"Lucky guy," he grins, walking away.

"It's going to get worse when the next one comes out." I remind her. She gives me the finger.

Kate fell in love with a computer geek by the name of Garrett Henderson her junior year of college. He was going to MIT for programming. He got the idea for a video game called Echo. It's about a secret society that takes people, wipes their brains, and turns them into puppets that can be programmed to do almost anything. A recruit codename Echo starts to regain her memories and fights to bring down the society. He had the plot. He just needed a face for his heroine. Kate volunteered her likeness and the rest is history. The game was a huge success. Echo became the next Lara Croft. Now, every man with a XBOX or PS3 can ogle my friend's tits in 3D. Every year, she and Garrett go to Comic Con and she dresses up as the character. It's weird.

"If I didn't love Garrett so much I'd kill him. I miss that nerd." she smiles to herself. Garrett was in California putting the finishing touches on the new Echo game. Her smile quickly turns into a frown and she covers her face. "I'm so sorry," she apologizes. "I shouldn't be talking about that when you just got divorced."

"Don't censor your happiness on my account," I beg her. "I think what you two have is sweet. I want that," I confide.

Garrett is such a nerd. You'd think he wouldn't have a shot in hell with a woman like Kate. She looks at that adorkable manchild like he's her world. He is. He looks at her the same way...when he's not staring at her boobs.

"He's out there," she pats my hand.

"Thanks for not asking if I'm okay," I tell her.

"Please. I wasn't going to risk you biting my head off," she giggles. "I know you too well."

"People kept asking me," I shivered, taking a sip of my drink. "You'd think Peter asked me for the divorce."

"I'm glad you came to your senses," she exhales, drinking her apple martini. "He was too old for you."

"He was really upset," I tell her. "It's for the best. He'll realize it."

"And you'll find a hot guy your own age," she taps my nose. "No more taking your daddy issues to the extreme," she wags her finger at me.

"Shut up," I swat her hand away.

Kate practically begged me not to marry Peter. She went all Freud on me and said I just wanted an older man to tell me I was smart and pretty because I missed my father.

I did miss my father. I missed him a lot. Unfortunately, I know he's not coming back.

_"Don't settle. Never settle…not in life…never ever in love. You deserve the world. Got that?"_

Sometimes, I wonder about where he is. Is he even alive? Does he have a new family? Does he still think of me?

"No!" she snaps her fingers in my face. "We're not focusing on that. We're going to focus on that tall drink of water that is staring at you," she quickly averts her eyes to a man at the bar. "Fuck. He moved his face," she hisses, when I tried to look.

"Oh well," I shrug. "I don't feel like talking to any guys," my shoulders deflate.

"You'd want to talk to him," she does the eye thing again.

"Woah."

"Yeah," my friend wiggles her eyebrows.

"Shit."

"He's probably embarrassed," Kate reasons. "He got caught staring at you."

"He was probably staring at you," I look to the man and wish that he'd turn around.

"Bella, he was burning a hole through you," she grins. "Drink up," she takes my second drink and holds it to my lips.

"Mhmm," I take the drink from her and start to chug.

"You're going to get a little liquid courage and go home with that guy," she grins.

"What?" I choke on my drink.

"You heard me," she laughs. "You're going to drag him to your place and ride him like there is no tomorrow. You're going to be up all night fucking like rabbits."

"Kate..."

"You're going to fuck like you should have been fucking since college," she starts again. "No more geriatric peen for you."

"Peter wasn't that old."

"Besides the point," she snorts.

"I've never done that," I blush. "I don't have much experience."

Guys never approached when I was younger. I was either too geeky for guys my age or too young for guys that were mentally my equal. I guess that's why I gravitated towards Peter. He appreciated my intellect and didn't care about my age. He's the only man I've ever been with.

"You have to learn sometime," she stands me up.

"But..."

"Just talk to him," she huffs, pushing me forward. "Go," she whispers. I do nothing and she squints at me. "Fine," she mouths to me and throws a cherry from her drink at the man's head.

"What the..." he whips his head around and I come face to face with him.

Woah.

The man in question looks to be about 6'4. The dim lighting of the bar practically glows off of his pale skin. He has somewhat feminine features with his narrow nose and somewhat gaunt looking cheeks. However, he looks so manly. His chin has a slight bump on the edge like he'd gotten in a fight. What stood out to me was his wild. bronze hair. It wasn't really bronze per se. It was more of a red/blonde mixture. I'd never seen anything like it before. It stood up in every direction. I don't imagine anyone else on the planet but him could wear it like that and not look insane.

I couldn't shake this familiar feeling about him. I didn't know what to make of it.

"Uh..." he stares at me in the eyes and starts to blink rapidly.

"Sorry," I start blushing.

"Uh..."

"Um... your muscles look nice in that shirt," I say the first thing that pops in my mind. I was right. He had on a short sleeve black t-shirt that hugged his biceps quite nicely. I look and see a painful look on Kate's face.

It must be bad.

"Really?" he gives a look like he can't believe I said what I just said.

It's getting worse.

"Fuck it," I sigh. "I shouldn't be here. I'm going home."

"No!" he grabs my arm. An electric shock runs itself through my body and stops me in my tracks. It felt unreal.

"Sorry about that," he apologizes. "I must have carried it with me."

"It's okay," I blush again. What is with me?

"Edward?" he holds his hand out.

"Bella," I shake his hand. "Are you here with any friends? The place seems to be paired off," I look around. It's the time of night when people start looking for people to go home with.

Is this what I was doing?

"No," he shakes his head. "I'm alone. You?"

"I came here with my friend to celebrate," I answer, pointing to Kate who is downing her third martini.

"Celebrating what?"

"My di..." I stop myself quickly. I don't want him thinking about any baggage I may have. "I won a big case today. I'm a lawyer."

"Cool," he smiles.

"What do you..." I'm cut off by his phone buzzing.

"Sorry," he checks his screen and he starts to laugh. I nonchalantly peek to see the photo of a little girl with bronze hair and blue eyes sleeping on a couch. She's beautiful. "What?" he asks.

Shit. He heard me.

"She's beautiful," I tell him. "She's yours?" I ask, pointing to the screen.

"Yeah," he smiles, showing me the screen so I can get a better viewpoint.

His smile is gorgeous.

"How old?"

"She just turned five two weeks ago," he answers. "She's staying at my aunt's house while her mother is away."

"Oh," my smile deflates at the mention of his wife.

"I'm not married," he notices my face. "I'm in the middle of a divorce. So, I'm not spiritually married anyway. To anyone who cares...the rest is just paperwork," he jokes.

"I get the feeling," I nod with him. "I'm freshly divorced."

"How fresh?"

"Very fresh," I answer, not wanting to give anything away. "Why are you here alone?" I question. "Are you here to charm and pick up women?"

"I'm not picking anyone up," he laughs at me. "You came over here."

"I just wanted to talk to the man who was staring at me," I counter, enjoying his face turn a shade or red.

"Hey, I was just..." his phone starts to ring. "I need to take this," he gets up from the table.

"Bel..." Kate stumbles over to the bar. "I need to..." she starts to hiccup. "Home...cab," she starts to hiccup again. When Kate got drunk she talks loudly.

Kate lived twenty minutes away. I doubted she'd be able to make it up the steps to her and Garrett's fancy house. She'd fall and break her neck.

"Sleepover," I laugh at my drunk friend.

"No," she tries to refuse and falls off of her chair. "Have sex. I'll be fine," she flips her hair over her shoulder and straightens her clothes. Now, she's reaching the point where she tries to act like she's not drunk.

I look at the bathroom and decide to do something crazy. It's something crazy for me anyway. I take one of my cards out and write on the back.

"My friend got shitfaced. I can't leave her alone. I like talking to you. Call me," I read my note to myself, adding my personal number on the bottom.

I leave it underneath his beer bottle and hope some creep doesn't swipe it.

"Come on, drunk," I put her arm around my shoulder.

"Nooooo," she tries to resist. "You're supposed to be having sex with him," she pouts and everyone turns to stare at us.

"Nothing to see here," we pass them by.

It wasn't as hard as you may thing to move Kate. She's a very mobile drunk which is why I can't leave her alone.

" I love you, Bella," my friend hugs me. "You're my best friend. That's right. You bitch!" she gives me a clumsy high five as I open the door to my apartment.

"I have to go...ouch!" she screams and falls over an ottoman. "Why did you put this here?" she asks. "Ottomans shouldn't be in the hallway."

"You're right," I put the stool in front of the couch...where I thought I left it. I must have moved it before I left.

I get Kate undressed and put her in the guest room and change into my pajamas. For the first time in a long time I go to bed with a smile on my face.

I hope he calls.


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks for all of your reviews! It means a lot that you all like my story so much. For those that don't know my computer had the technological equivalent of a heart attack last week. It stopped charging. It needs to be taken apart and welded. My computer needs open heart surgery. LOL. Anyway, all my stories besides CD are on hiatus. CD isn't because it's still in progress. The others are finished but still trapped on my computer. **

**Now...**

Ch.3

BPOV

"Fuuuuck," Kate gripes, stumbling into my closet after taking a shower. "I feel like shit," she pops a couple Advil and downs some water.

"You're the one who drank apple martinis like they were made out of Juicy Juice," I remind her. "It serves you right," I tease. She returns my playful scolding with a middle finger.

"I had to do something to make all of those perverts hitting on me every ten seconds," she rubs the cold glass of water across her forehead. "Hangovers suck."

My best friend takes the opportunity to dramatically slide down the door frame and collapse on to the floor in a starfish-like formation. I giggle and shake my head. With her flare for theatrics she should have been an actress.

"At least one of us had a good time," I sigh, sifting through suits to wear to work.

"Oh," she pouts, sitting up. At least she tries to. Her head only got about two inches from the ground. "I totally clam jammed you last night with that sexy ginger," she gives me a regretful look. Kate prefers to use the term 'clam jam' when it refers to women. She has a thing for things being symmetrical for both genders. She's a quasi feminist like that. "I'm sorry."

"Well," I think about my utter failure in that department. "I wasn't getting very far," I shake my head and start looking for what shoes to wear. "I blew it," I confess.

After deliberating on what happened I decided that there is NO way in hell a guy that hot would want anything to do with me...not after seeing what a socially awkward mess I am.

"What?" she throws her hands in the air. "He was into you."

"Maybe," I concede her point. "That was before I told him that his shirt made his muscles look nice," I chuckle.

"No."

"Yes," I nod in shame.

_That shirt makes your muscles look nice._

What was I thinking?

"Shit," she starts laughing at me.

"Stop!" I throw a show at her stomach.

"It's funny," she reasons.

"Not to me," I flick her off. "I even game him my number. He probably threw it away or gave it to a hobo," I facepalm myself.

"Not in the least," my friend shakes in disagreement. "He was staring at you hard. He wants to fuck you," she says like it's a scientific fact.

"A guy with looks like him isn't going to jump through hoops for anyone," I roll my eyes. "He could go up to any girl and demand them to drop their panties and most would," I tell. I think back to those jade green eyes and find myself salivating a little.

Mmmm...

Let's not talk about that crooked smile.

"You're acting you're not hot," she responds. "If you didn't get in a serious relationship before you could get legally drunk you'd know that," she raises her bitch brow. "I could kill Peter for taking you off the market before you got to have a slut phase," she huffs.

Kate is loyal to a fault. She always finds a way to blame Peter for my unhappiness.

"I married Peter because I loved him...or thought I did...or whatever," I remind her for the thousandth time. "Besides, we both know I don't have it in me to have a slut phase."

The thought of being even remotely promiscuous sends shivers up my spine. What woman would want to become acquainted with so many penises? Maybe I'm a prude but I wouldn't want to subconsciously compare my husband to other men. Ewww. I was always proud that Peter was the only man I'd been with when we got married. He's the only man I've ever even dated. I guess that whole 'no comparison' thing is out the window.

"A rebound phase," she compromises. "He'll call you. Go out to on whatever boring cliché' outing. Then, fuck him and send him on his way," she waves off. "You don't have to marry him. Not every man you meet wants to propose to you."

"He's not going to call," I resign, going with my black stacked pumps with a gold heel.

"Put your handbag where your mouth is," she somehow finds the energy to sit up to face me.

"Pardon?"

She can't be talking about what I think she's talking about.

"That beautiful bag there," she nods her head to the new Birkin I got last week. I've yet to break it in. "If he calls within a week that baby is mine," she grins.

"No way," I practically shout, clutching bag holding the purse to my chest.

She knows I've been obsessing about that bag for months. I was on the waiting list for it. I practically sprinted to the store from court to pick it up when I got the call to tell me I could finally get one. It's ox blood red ostrich with matching leather straps.

"C'mon," she shrugs, looking at her nails. "You're soooo positive. What's a wager when victory is certain?"

"Victory is never certain," I squint at her.

"If you win you get my Louis Vuitton luggage," she wagers.

"Please," I shake my head. "You can't..."

She knows I've been after some vintage LV luggage for years. I could never find any in good condition. She knows I won't be able to resist.

"The one with built-in hangers," she elaborates.

"That's not..."

"Plus I'll buy you two thousand dollars worth of whatever you want to make up the difference in price," she smiles.

"Deal," I say before I realize what happened.

Damn it!

"Don't touch that," she takes the bag out of my hand. "I want it unused when I come to collect," she beams and kisses the bag.

"I hate you," I pout and look at my outfit on the island of my closet.

"Sexy," she takes it in.

I chose a simple black pant suit that is tailored to perfection. I add a simple gold earrings to match the gold heel of my pumps. Then, I add a skinny belt with gold spikes to top it off.

"I can't wait..."

*Ring*Ring*

"Who is that?" Kate asks, snatching a sleep shirt from a drawer.

*Ring*Ring*Ring*Ring*

"If it's the land line it must be important," I reason, answering the phone. "Hello?"

"Ms. Swan?"

"Uh...huh?" I answer, interested in what is so important that they couldn't call my cell phone.

"There is a Ms...Tanner to see you," he hesitates. "She says she needs to speak with you. Apparently, it's urgent."

It better be. I'm not supposed to be in the office for another hour and a half. I haven't even had coffee yet. If this is a false alarm...

"What is it?" Kate asks.

"My associate," I roll my eyes.

"Whoa," she chuckles and shakes her head. "She must not know you very well. I feel sorry for her,"she sighs, as we hear a knock on the door.

It was 6:30. I hadn't done my hair, my makeup or had coffee. I was annoyed to say the least. I was not in the mood for whatever rookie bullshit Tanner had for me. This shit BETTER be important.

"Yeah?" Kate answers the door, giving Bree her best bitch pose.

"Uh..." Bree struggles. "Is Isabella Swan here? I might have the wrong add..."

"You're fine," I shout from the kitchen and pour a bowl of cereal. "Come in," I order.

"Good morning," the nervous woman rushes out and hands me a cup of coffee. "I'm sor..."

"Cut the shit," I stop her. "Why on God's green Earth are you in my house at 6:30 in the morning? I assume this is important."

"Uh..."

"C'mon," I coax her, sipping some coffee. "You need to know when to get to the point. People don't trust a timid person."

What idiot in HR thought it was a good idea to hide a girl who can't even finish...

"Jessica Newton," she speaks with confidence.

Huh?

"What?" Kate chokes on her glass of water. "Like the Newton that found that..."

"Yeah," Bree nods with earnest.

"Shit."

This has been all over the papers this year. Mike and Jessica Newton were a couple of modest means who were married for over 30 years. One day while cleaning Jessica found a monstrous painting that had been long forgotten about in their attic. Mike had gotten it for Jessica as a gift for their anniversary...at a yard sale. Their daughter, Maggie, who so happened to be an art history teacher at the time, noticed something a little odd about her parents' find. The paint seemed to be made out of very dated and rare paint. Curious, she takes the painting to her teacher. Her teacher takes the painting to an art curator at the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston. The curator comes up with a crazy theory. Convinced that his eyes are deceiving him, he calls in a few favors to an old friend in Rome. The results were interesting to say the least. It seems like Mike and Jessica owned a half-finished draft of The Last Supper painting made by none other than Leonardo da Vinci himself. Apparently, it's the most expensive rough draft of _anything_ ever made because it's valued at $100,000,000.

A nice story. Right? High school sweethearts spend their lives together, find a rare painting and live the rest of their lives in retired bliss in Boca.

Wrong. Very wrong.

The only reason Jessica was cleaning out the attic is because she and Michael were selling their house as part of an agreement in their impending divorce. It turns out, Mike had a stereotypical mid-life crisis and followed his 52 year old dick to younger 24 year old pastures. Now, the ownership of the painting is in limbo. It's a big mess.

A big and expensive mess.

"How?" I ask, interested. I was curious about how Bree and Jessica Newton knew each other.

"My mom a-actually," she blushes. "She was at Saks last night and saw Jessica Newton there. My mom is a real social butterfly. She walks up to her and start talking about lying, cheating bastard ex husbands. My parents went through a pretty nasty divorce too," she sighs. "Anyway. Jessica is getting new representation because Mike is looking around at high-profile lawyers. She went on and on about how the painting is hers... yada...yada."

Wait a minute.

"Did you get us a meeting with Jessica Newton?" I try to hide my excitement.

HR is a genius.

Think of the lawyer fees.

"My mom texted me last night but my phone was off," she rambles off. "She's supposed to stop by at 8:00."

8:00? That was an hour and a half.

"Shit!" I yell, running to my closet.

"I have your hair," Kate runs behind me and starts unraveling the rollers from my hair. "We only have 90 minutes, I scramble and put my pants on.

"I'm sorry," Bree says frantically.

"Here," I hand her my phone. "Text Peter 'Code Black'. Meeting with The Last Supper. 30 minutes," I order her. I do my makeup to look natural.

"Got it," she fumbles with my phone. "Bella, I'm so sorr...damn that was fast," she shows me his reply.

**Peter: I'm rallying the troops. **

"Let's go," I scurry out of the door.

"I'm so..."

"Stop apologizing," I huff, checking my reflection in the mirror of the elevator. "My car will be here in 15 minutes."

"Let's just take mine," Bree volunteers. "I drove here."

Bree pays the valet and we race off in her BMW to the office. We step into the building to see a wave of employees flooding in from every possible entryway. Caroline and the other assistants are busy getting the conference room ready with coffee and pastries.

"Okay!" Peter gets everyone's attention. "Spend the next 45 minutes getting up to speed on Mr. and Mrs. Newton. I need you guys sharp. At &7:45, I need all the junior partners in the conference room ready to answer any and all questions. Break!" he claps his hands and the worker bees all disperse. "Bella," he says my name in a tentative manner.

"Hey," I say sheepishly. It's still awkward seeing him and know that we were married less than 24 hours ago. "Did you file the..."

"Yeah," he nods. "You know Max from the courthouse owed me a favor. I put it in early this morning."

"Okay," I nod walking to my computer.

We each go to our corners and prepare for the impromptu meeting.

"Bella," Bree peeks her head in the door.

"Mhm," I point to a chair. "What?"

"I'm helping Angela on that Summers embezzlement case," she starts. "How do you suppose you..."

"Call the Dirt Devil," I answer, knowing she's asking about proving other ways that money could have went missing.

"Who is that?"

"Look at the contact sheet you were given yesterday," I roll my eyes. I don't know why we created the contact list. It's like no one reads it. They just go to the nearest person to ask questions that could be answers using the damn sheet. It's annoying.

"It's..."

"Johnathan Jenks," I clarify. "He does all of our private investigations exclusively. He's on retainer. If there is dirt to find he'll find it," I say.

What can I say about Jenks? Have you ever watched The Good Wife? Scandal? Imagine Khalinda's swag with Huck's effectiveness. That's him. I love that guy. He will do whatever it takes to get the job done. One time he hid in a closet in a hotel room for three hours and videotaped a client's rival snorting cocaine and fucking a prostitute. I paid him extra for that one. I'll need him for this.

"You know what?" I get an idea. "See if he can get here in an hour. I want him on the Newton case."

"How do we know she'll pick us?"

I laugh at that sentiment.

"One look at our portfolio and she will."

Whenever anything worthwhile happened and big money was at stake it either went to me and/or Jane. I'm anticipating the same with this case. I need to get started early.

"Bella, Peter" Caroline grabs our attention. "There is some people from pest control here. They say they need to spray the area."

"Not good," Peter shakes his head and gets up. "I'll take care of it."

While Peter deals with the Orkin men I go to meet the juniors in the conference room. I meet JJ on the way over.

"Here you go, Boss Lady," he smiles, handing me a manila envelope.

"What?"

"As soon as I heard about a $100,000,000 lawsuit I figured one of them would beat down your door sooner or later," he shrugs. "Mr. Newton has had five consultations with various law firms yesterday," he informs. "The kicker is that none of them has lasted longer than five minutes. That's weird."

"Volturi?"

"Not that I can prove," he shakes his head and opens the folder. "However, he recently joined the Boston's Men Club where Aro Volturi is now a member of."

Aro Volturi. Ugh. He might be the slimiest man ever conceived. It's no wonder how his daughter turned out the way she did. I hear the last piece of information makes me shake my head. If you were fighting over $300,000,000 you'd want to talk a lot longer than five minutes.

"Thanks," I pat his back. "Wait here. Bree will talk to you after the meeting. Have some coffee and donuts," I open the conference room.

"He's hot," Jane blushes a little.

"Focus," I sigh and sit down.

"Crisis averted," Peter sits down beside me. "I told them that we'd live among whatever roaches or ants they think are in the building. I haven't seen any."

"She's here," Caroline buzzes into the intercom. Peter and I greet the woman by the elevator and usher her to the boardroom.

"Wow," Ms. Newton pops her bubble gum and sits down. "This is pretty nice," she grabs a doughnut in each hand.

"Ms. Newton, we've become familiar with your sit..."

"Whatever," the woman interrupts, bits of glazed doughnut falls from her mouth to the table. "That painting is mine. Plain and simple. That lying, cheating, sack of shit told me that I could help myself to anything from our shitty condo after he left me for a woman young enough to be his daughter. Now that I have something worthwhile he wants to take it!" she fumes. "I won't let him squash $50,000,000 of my money like he did the past 35 years of my life."

"I understand completely," Peter offers in a smooth voice. "I was married once. The next think you know you aren't," his eyes look over to me. For a split second I see a sliver of sadness. "And you're left wondering what went wrong...if there was anything you could have done to change the outcome."

The tone of the room shifts and it seems like everyone is looking at me. I feel their eyes questioning what really went on in Peter and my marriage. I try to hide the awkwardness on my face. Yesterday, they were all looking at me with pity. Now, I don't know what to call this look.

I glance at Peter and try to hide my anger. We discussed this...in detail. We promised that we wouldn't let our divorce impact our business. I don't know why he's playing the victim. He's the one who betrayed me. The fact that he can't see it really pisses me off.

"In the end it doesn't matter," I look the potential client in the face. "Your husband made a promise to you before GOD...and he broke that promise. Thirty five years and poof," I end waving my hand off like it was nothing. "It seems like for someone who was supposed to love you until the end of time he sure didn't take his vows too seriously," I sigh.

"I just...I just..." she leads off and a rogue tear falls from her eye. "I've known him my whole life and out of nowhere he's this different person."

"I know. I'm sorry," I pass her a tissue.

"After that long you deserved loyalty, respect and fucking...decency," my partner pauses, staring her in the eyes. "Unfortunately, I guess you'll just have to settle for $100,000,000," Peter adds.

"If he just told me he wasn't happy and wanted a divorce..." she leads off. "Instead, he leaves me for a woman younger than our daughter. Then he feels so entitled to **everything**."

"I believe you, Ms. Newton and I want you to believe me when I say that everyone in this room will **make** Michael honor his last promise to you."

"Thank you," she holds my hand. "I did some research. I know you all are good at what you do. What's next?"

We spend the next hour going over strategy until Jessica feels comfortable in the direction we're going. As a sign of good will, we send her home in one of our cars. I'm already spent for the day and it's not even noon. I see Peter in his office. I know I shouldn't confront him but I can't help myself.

"What the hell?" I ask, turning the glass from clear to opaque so no one can see us arguing.

"Fuck," he sighs, holding his head in his hands. "I'm sorry. I know I shouldn't have said those things."

"You can't just project our problems on to our clients," I huff softly. "The only reason people haven't poached our employees or clients is because they think we're okay with each other," I remind him.

The law is a tough business. If clients get a whiff of discontent in a firm they will run. They never run the risk of someone's personal shit fucking with their business. A couple of our junior partners even came forward and told us that Jane tried to offer them a job. Luckily, no one caved.

"I know...fuck it," he leans back in his chair. "I'm not sorry. You divorced me for no reason," he looks at me with his puppy eyes. "I don't understand. Can't we just..."

"Stop it," I plead. "Just...keep a lid on it. I know I might sound like a bitch now but you'll see," I kiss his cheek and walk out of his office.

"Bella?" Caroline approaches me like I'm a lion in the jungle. "You have an interview with a Mr. McCarthy for a JP position."

"Really?" I check my schedule for the day. This person isn't on it. "Sure?" I show my assistant the paper.

"That's the schedule from last week," she excuses. "Sometimes things get added at the last minute. I'm sorry."

"Fine," I look at my watch. I hope I don't miss lunch.

"She's in your office," she hands me her resume and references. I scan to find that she's pretty good...on paper that is. Both partners at her previous firm praised and seemed upset to lose her. Then again, that can be said about anyone at this firm.

"Have Bree in my office in ten minutes," I request.

I walk in with a smile on my face and shake the woman's hand. I can honestly say that she gives Kate a run for her money in the 'too beautiful to live' category. She has the big boob, long blonde hair, nice shape thing going on. I look over her shoulder to see two male associates ogling at her.

"Good morning," I shake her hand.

"Hello," she smiles, flicking her blonde hair and the crowd outside of my office grows. I flick the switch to opaque.

I don't really have time for an entire 30 minute interview. She has good qualifications. I decide to test her.

"We both know you have great education and experience," I rip her resume and references up in her face. I watch her face morph into one of shock. "Wow me," I challenge her.

"Well," she slouches in the leather chair. "I'm here because you're the best. I only deal with the best. I get off on winning. On some days it's better than sex. Volturi & Associated offered 15 percent more than what you're offering. I rejected it because I like to win and no amount of money can make up for being number two," she grabs a mint from my bowl and unwraps it. "So?"

To the point. I like it.

"You start Monday," I smile.

"Really?" she asks. "I thought I'd start earlier."

"Nope," I pop the 'p'. "All new hires start at the beginning of the week."

"Oh," she says a little dejectedly. "I look forward to working with you."

"Great," I smile and show her out the door.

"So?" Peter questions.

"She starts Monday," I tell. I look to see Bree walking down the hallway.

"You rang?"

"Yeah," I smile. "Lunch?" I ask, grabbing my coat.

"With me?" she questions, pointing to herself.

"Yes," I nod slowly and laugh at her confusion.

"Really?" she deadpans and looks around.

"You impressed me today," I admit. "I'd like to get to know you."

Even though she should have told us earlier she came through in the clutch. I liked it.

"Great," she smiles.

"Any suggestions?"

"I know this great Mexican place," she reveals. "I hop we can get a table," she wishes as my phone buzzes.

"Hello?" I answer the unknown call.

"Is this Bella?"

"Depends on who is asking."

"This is Edward... from the bar last night."

**Everything will start to make sense in the next couple of chapters. Who is up for EPOV?**

**Anyway, here are my casting choices. I imagine them looking older. **

**Bella: Emmy Rossum**

**Edward: Michael Fassbender**

**Charlie: Pierce Brosnan**

**Peter: Patrick Wilson**

**Kate: Brooklyn Decker**

**Bree: Emily Browning**


	4. Chapter 4

**I'm back!**

**Sorry for the wait. I know I said that we'd hear from Edward but he decided to give me the silent treatment this chapter. I tried for days and got nothing. Let's stick with Bella.**

**BPOV**

_Flashback_

_"Daddy?"_

_'Yeah, kiddo?" he asks, tucking me into bed._

_"What was your first date with Mom like?" I smile._

_"Oh, dear," he rolls his eyes and laughs at me. "Again?"_

_"Yep," I nod in earnest. I already knew the tale of the horrific first date my parents went on all those years ago. I just liked hearing it._

_"It was a Friday. I'd been nervous all week. I racked my brain for days on where to take her. From the moment I saw your mother I knew she'd never go for the ordinary. So I thought...and thought...and thought some more and I came up with a brilliant idea. Brilliant," he smiles. "I remembered her telling her friend that she loved to go skating. So, I was going to plan a romantic picnic and take her skating," he snuggles into bed with me. "But..."_

_"God had a since of humor that day," I interrupt him. I love this part._

_"Yes. Yes, he did," he laughs at me. "You see, I was so excited to go out with your mother that I forgot to check the weather report," he shakes his head._

_"Uh huh."_

_"The second I picked your mother up it started to rain," he shakes his head. "So...no picnic. So..."_

_"You two had a picnic in your car."_

_"Hey!" he gasps. "Am I telling the story?" he jokes. I roll my eyes and wave for him to continue._

_"Yes. We had a picnic in my car," he continues. "I take her to the skating rink. That part went okay," he shrugs. "At least it was okay until she fell and hit her head. It was pretty bad," he chuckles. "You get your clumsiness from your mother," he informs. "To this day, she insists that someone spilled some soda on the floor and she tripped over it."_

_"But you knew better," I giggle._

_"Uh huh. I did," he kisses my hair. "Everyone was laughing at her and she was so embarrassed. We make an exit with what dignity we have left. We tried to. Unknown to us, the rain had frozen to sleet on the ground and I fell."_

_"You ripped your pants," I start laughing._

_"Yes," he rolls his eyes. "I ripped my pants right down the middle. So it was your mother's turn to laugh."_

_"But it wasn't over," I shake my head._

_"We walked back to my and found a boot on it. I had a few tickets I forgot to take care of," he braces himself for my laughter. "So, here we are...sitting alone in my car and waiting for a cab," he puts his face in his palm. "Your mother was silent the entire cab ride home. I was sure I blew it. We pulled up to her house and I apologize profusely," he sighs. "And she said..." he leads off, letting me finish the sentence._

_"You've set the bar so low our second date is bound to be better than this one," I smile. "Then you said, 'Good. It saves me the trouble of having to plan some ridiculous gesture to get you to go out with me again.'"_

_"I would have done anything for a second chance with your mother," he grins. "Swans are persistent people. She was right."_

_"Right about what?"_

_"Our second date was much better," he tucks my hair behind my ear. "We made you."_

_"I love you."_

_"I love you too," he hugs me and turns off the light._

He called?

He called.

He called!

"Uh...yeah," I answer, trying not to sound excited. I may not have much dating experience but I know that a guy isn't supposed to know how interested you are in him. "Hey."

"Hey," he parrots me. "I've been staring at your card all day," he says with a slight laugh.

"How nice of you," I smile, pressing the button for the elevator.

"Don't give me too much credit," he replies. "I spent most of the time trying to decipher the chickenscratch you call handwriting," he jokes.

I roll my eyes and giggle. I have horrible handwriting. I always have. As a result, I tend to type most of my notes or speak with people face to face. Peter always jokes that I should have become a doctor instead of a lawyer. I didn't even think about that when I wrote my number down.

"I haven't heard that before," I snort.

"It has a vague resemblance to hieroglyphics," he adds.

"Hey," I reply, acting offended. "I don't know if we're good enough friends for you to make fun of my handwriting."

"Of course, we are."

"I'm assuming you called me for a reason other than to make fun of my handwriting," I follow Bree into the elevator.

"Yes, I did," he answers. I can't help the smile that erupts on my face.

"Well..." I lead off.

"I was calling to see if you had any plans this evening," he confesses. "I would like very much to take you on a date."

"Really?"

"Yes. Really," he laughs. "It's the least you can do. You did kind of ditch me last night."

"You think I ditched you?"

"I know you ditched me," he sighs, sadly. "I leave for one minute and you vanish into thin air."

"You seemed to have done okay."

"Then..." he draws out a dramatic sigh."I must have called at least ten different people before I got your number right. It would have been easier to find you if you just dropped a glass slipper," he finishes.

I couldn't help it. I laughed. Bree raised an eyebrow and shook her head at me like I was an idiot. I heard her stifle a giggle of her own. It was getting awkward.

"Well," I turn my body so it's not facing Bree. "While I am flattered you went through so much to call me...I can't help but be a little taken aback at your proposal," I step out of the elevator. "It's such short notice. I could already have plans."

I didn't but he didn't know that. Once again, I see Bree roll her eyes and follow me to the car waiting outside for us.

"You do have a point," he says sadly. "Lunch?"

"I actually have a meeting with a colleague," I look at Bree. "Plus, I have a pretty important engagement this evening. I'm sorry," I pout.

"Damn," he answers. "I should have know a woman as beautiful as you would have plans."

"Yeah," I pause. "I'll text you my address. I'll be expecting you at 8," I smile and hang up the phone.

The smile stays on my face and the limo drives off. It starts to hurt and I can practically feel the blood rushing to my cheeks. My hands fly to my face. I hate blushing in public. It's a tell. I don't like people knowing my emotions. Bree suddenly finds the flashing scenery interesting. She's making an effort not to look at me. Then, she starts to giggle.

"What?" I ask, taking my hand from my mouth.

"Nothing," she struggles to say.

"Tanner," my smile falters. "I like to laugh too."

I hate it when people laugh around me and I don't know what for. I don't know why. It just bothers me.

"It's just..." she starts. "I really didn't expect you to...I don't know...act all..."

"All what?" I cross my arms.

"I don't know...girly," she shrugs.

"I hate to spoil it for you but I kind of am a girl."

"It's just you're always so," she leads off and starts acting stern.

"I get it," I huff.

"We're here," Dave announces, as the car pulls to a stop.

"Great," Bree smiles, jumping out of the car.

I should have left my purse in the car.

I look around and am shocked to see the least. I spot two hobos. One is talking to himself and the other is peeing on the sidewalk. A woman who I assume to be a prostitute smokes a cigarette on the corner. Apparently, she doesn't approve of how I look at her.

"What are you looking at, bitch?" she hisses.

"Do you really want me to answer that question?" I bite back.

"Come on," Bree gently tugs my arm inside.

The place is pretty much a hole in the ground. However, the food smells delicious. Bree is greeted by the staff.

"Hi, guys!" she waves back at them and moves directly to the table in the center of the place. "This is my boss, Bella," she introduces me.

"Hello," I smile.

"They have the best Korean tacos in the world," Bree smiles.

"Hey, girls," a woman blonde red spiky hair and one of those hole piercings in her ear greets us. "The usual?"

"Yeah," Bree nods. "Thanks, Cree."

"I'll have that too," I make it easy. I don't really know what to get. "I'll have a Coke," I add.

"When I was in undergrad I used to come here to study," she informs. "I know it's a bit skecthy but the people here are pretty great."

"Whatever keeps the thoughts flowing," I take a sip of my soda.

"Bella?" she asks, as a plate of weird looking fries come to our table. I nod and take a small bite. It's sweet, spicy and savory. It's fucking delicious. "You're not much older than me. How did you get to be partner?"

I look up from the plate and try to decipher the motive for her questioning. She's either attempting to pick my brain or looking for gossip. Her face quickly falters to one of insecurity. She realizes that she may have overstepped. I decide it's a bit of both.

I'm sure most people think my marriage to Peter was a career move. They feel I wanted all the prestige without doing the work. Those people can go fuck themselves. If I just wanted prestige I wouldn't be working. I married Peter because I loved him. Besides, most assume that Shephard & Assc meant the both of us. It didn't. Peter was the only chief partner until yesterday. He just took value in my opinion because I was his wife and his best lawyer. Honestly, I think he gave me the partnership because he was afraid I'd leave the firm and take all the good talent with me. It doesn't matter. I got my name on the door. It deserved to be there anyway.

"I assume you've researched me," I ask. She nods. "I got to be partner because I deserved it," I look her in the eye. "I married Peter a little after he started on his own. It was only logical that we be in it together...not because we were married but because I was the best lawyer he had," I add. "Anybody who says otherwise is just bitter that I'm 10 years younger than them with a higher salary and my name on the door."

I roll my eyes. This happens frequently.

"O-kay," she says, startled at the intensity of my answer. "I just wanted to know. I just think it's amazing that you're so relatively young and have achieved so much. I can't imagine..."

I find myself shaking my head again. Bree is smart. She wouldn't work at my firm if she wasn't. However, her lack of confidence is...astounding. Either she has NO idea of how bright she is or she's fishing for a compliment.

"Listen," I stop her. "You'll never get anywhere second guessing yourself like that," I lick my fingers. "You must know your worth. If people catch a whiff of insecurity they'll eat you alive. You should..."

"Oh my God," Cree gushes. "Your ex came here last night with that cunt," she informs.

"Yeah," Bree looks down at her plate and messes with her napkin.

"The one with the red and frizzy hair," she nods. "I have no idea what he was thinking. She looks like a cat," she hisses, refilling our drinks.

"His loss. Right?" Bree mumbles, looking at me from the corner of her eye.

I feel uncomfortable.

"You're so much better than Victoria," the waitress continues.

Why does the name Victoria sound familiar?

"She's always looking down on everyone. Excuse me but not everyone got to go to some fancy shit college," she rolls her eyes. "Anyway, I hocked a _huge_ loogie in their tacos," she smiles.

A loogie?! I scream internally. I wonder what their health score is.

"Don't worry," Cree pats my shoulder. "Your stuff is okay."

"Thank you," I cringe, sipping my soda.

"Anyway," she shrugs. "They'll be sick before the end of the week."

"Thanks. I guess," Bree nods.

"Let me know if you need anything," she waves and goes back to the kitchen.

That was interesting. I look at Bree. She's gone back to her trademark move of avoiding eye contact.

"How do you expect clients to trust you if you can't maintain eye contact?" I ask.

"It's just..." she huffs. "Victoria thinks she hot shit because she stole my fiance."

"Eh..." I wave it off. "Fuck them both. Success is the best form of revenge," I shrug. "Your ex will regret the day he left you. The slut will get hers. Karma tends to be a bitch to those who deserve it," I remind her.

"You met her," she seethes. "The red hair first year with Jane? That's her."

I think back to yesterday and remember Victoria's evil gin in Bree's direction.

I cringe at the information. This could make things messier. Jane and I already hate each other. Add the Bree/Victoria angle and things get crazy. This can wither go two ways. Bree cowers or she acts like a woman scorned and kicks Victoria's ass. I'm eager to see which is which. I'm hoping for the latter.

"You'll just have to make Victoria regret the moment she decided to fuck you over," I offer my glass for a toast. "We'll start with Jessica Newton," I smile.

"Deal," she accepts my gesture. "I'll be the Mike to your Harvey," she grins.

"Who are they?" I ask. "What firm do they work for?" They can't be that good. I haven't heard of them.

"You haven't heard of Suits?"

"Uh..."

"That show on TV," she looks at me like I'm insane.

"Ugh..." I roll my eyes. "I don't watch TV." I'm so behind on everything. I stopped trying to catch things on their first run. I live on Hulu and Netflix.

"You should," she nods her head. "Don't worry. You're Harvey," she assures me.

"Is that good?"

"Yeah."

"Okay."

I spent the rest of lunch giving Bree advice on how to approach some of her assigned cases. Bree was very intelligent. I just hope she didn't get the 'deer in the headlights' syndrome in court.

We lost track of time and Dave had to practically break the sound barrier to get us back to the office on time. Peter greets me and rushes me to our next meeting. The client is on his fourth marriage. We go through the whole 'I want an iron-clad prenup...but don't want my fiance to think I don't trust her and am trying to screw her over...but I don't want to have to give her any money if we divorce' conversation for what feels like the thousanth time.

It's like pulling teeth.

Dave drops be off at my apartment building at 6:30. I shoot Edward a text and start to get ready.

My nerves take control and I find myself utterly clueless on what to do. I've never actually been on a 'date.' Not really. I mean Peter and I hung out before we got together. However, I can't pinpoint our first date. We started out with me picking his brain about his past experiences over coffee. The next thing I know, I'm awkwardly losing my virginity on his couch. Presto! We're going out. I never experienced the excitement, nervousness or jitters that went along with a first date.

Even though Peter and I were married we didn't date. Not really. I was at a complete loss.

What do I wear? A dress? What length should it be? How much cleavage?

What do I say?

I need help. There was only one person I could call. I faceplam myself and look at the Birkin I never got to wear and make the call.

"Hello, beautiful," Kate chirps into the phone.

"Come and get your purse, bitch," I give up. "I need your help."

"Really?" I can her smiling through the phone. "What time is he picking you up?"

"8"

"Shit," she hisses. "Start on your hair and makeup. Hair down. Natural makeup with a splash of color...red. Definitely red. Then, put all of your borderline slutty clothes on your bed. I'll be there in 30. We're cutting it kind of close."

I follow instructions. I take my rollers and barrel iron and create a retro 1940s look with a bold red lip. I finish just as Kate knocks on the door. She has on Strawberry Shortcake pajamas. She even has on strawberry shaped slippers.

"Nice start," she gives me a thumbs up on the makeup. She walk to my bed and sifts through my clothes. She finally decides on a black dress. The bodice is sheer with a thick black stripe going across the chest area. "This," she hands the dress to me. "No bra." The dress fits me like a glove. It's a good thing I chose not to wear a bra. The back of the dress opens into a slight keyhole that takes up most of the back of the dress. Kate tosses me a spiked bracelet and shoes with spikes on the strap.

"Fabulous," she winks. "Your boobs look amazing in that dress," she compliments.

"Thanks," I give myself a once over and agree.

"It's boring at my house," she takes all of her belongings out of her purse. "I'm gonna crash here so I can grill you on your date when you get back," she informs, placing her things in my...I mean her new Birkin bag. "You didn't think I was going to forget. Did you?" she laughs at me. "It matches my pajamas," she models her new bag in the mirror and gives herself a kiss in the mirror.

"You couldn't wait until I left?" I ask, trying not to ruin my makeup.

I really wanted that bag.

"Nope," she shakes her head. "I heard it calling my name from the elevator. KAAAAATE...KAAAAATE...wear me with those Jimmy Choo pumps you saw at Bergdorf's last week...We'll make for a great splash of color," she teases me.

"Bitch," I pout.

"If it hurts too much I won't wear it around you," she tells me with mock sincerity.

"Liar," I cross my arms.

"I should bet you..." the sound of my phone ringing interrupts her taunt.

"Ugh," I flick her off and answer the phone.

"Ms. Swan, there is a Mr. Mason in the lobby for you," the front desk receptionist says.

"Oh," I glance in the mirror. "Okay. I'll be down in a second."

"Make sure you have a sexy entrance," she messes with my boobs to make sure they're sitting up right. "Remember that you're a sexy, smart, successful woman. Don't take any shit. I don't care how hot he is," she pumps me up and ushers me to the door.

"Yeah. Yeah."

"Go get him," she smacks my ass. "I want you coming home disheveled," she closes the door.

I step in the elevator and scrutinize my appearance the entire way down. What if I'm too dressed up? He might be taking me to a place like Applebees or something. My outfit is totally inappropriate. I should have gone with jeans and a nice top. Are my feet starting to hurt already? Fuck! I should have worn flats.

What if I say the wrong thing?

What if he's boring?

What if he thinks I'm boring?

What if he does one of those fake emergency calls in the middle so he can leave? Oh my God!

People don't really do that. Do they? I mean it would be so obvious because everyone does it in the movies and on TV.

But...if you want to leave someone with no intentions of seeing them again it wouldn't matter.

This is doomed for failure.

I feel my armpits start to get damp.

FUCK! I'm sweating.

I slam my face down into my palm. This is ridiculous. I can defend a man on trial for murder. Ask me out on a date and I become a fucking invalid.

*Ding*

The door open and I see a tall figure in the distance. I can tell it's him because the man in question has a fantastic ass. I remember Edward having a nice ass. Arnold, the receptionist, points to my direction and he turns around.

Wow.

He has on a blue button down shirt, black slacks and what looks to be a blazer draped over his arm. He waves at me. It's like I'm floating. I don't remember the feeling of walking over but before I know it I'm standing in front of him.

"Hey," I manage to voice out.

"Hi," he replies, scanning my body. "You look...stunning," he compliments. "Really."

"Thank you," I find myself blushing. My face is so hot you could probably boil an egg on it. "That was nice of you," I nonchalantly drape my hair over my cheeks.

"It's not nice if it's true," he smiles, moving his hand to the small of my back. A shiver runs down my entire body. Edward quickly looks down at our contact and stretches his hand.

What was that?

"Ms. Swan, I hope you're ready for..."

"Bella?" Jane asks, stepping out of her car. "Who is this?" she asks, undressing Edward with her eyes.

Back off, bitch! He's mine.

"This is Edward," I snake my arm around his waist. "He's my date."

"Date," she smirks a grin so mischievous it would give the Chesire Cat a run for his money. "That's..." she leads off. "Quick," she finishes.

"We should go," Edward joins in. "It was nice meeting you..."

"Jane," she shakes Edward's hand. "I'm sure it was," she puts her glasses on and enters the building. She's planning something.

Shit.

"Woah," Edward sighs. "She's a bitch. Isn't she?" he jokes.

"The biggest," I nod. "She's the Voldemort to my Harry," I tell him.

"Ouch," he escorts me down the street. "I made us reservations at Clove for 8:30," he whispers in my ear.

"Fancy," I respond with a shiver going up my spine.

Clove was one of the nicest restaurants in town. I'd read a couple of articles about the place over the past few years. It's even been featured on The Food Network.

"I have to pull out all the stops for a beautiful woman such as yourself," he opens the door for me.

"I thought you did that by spending every waking hour deciphering my hieroglyphic-like handwriting," I tease him.

"Oh, no," he pulls off. "That was to prove my persistence. This date is to prove to you how awesome I am," he winks at me.

"Hot? Yes. Mysterious? Yes," I chuckle. "Awesome? eh..." I shake my hand in a so so manner.

"That's what the date is for," he repeats himself. " You made me think about you all last night and today. It only seems right that I invade your thoughts," he glances at me. "It only seems fair."

I know every word he's speaking is game. However, I can't help the blush and smile that creep up on my face. I brush some hair over my cheeks.

"Hey," I shrug. "It's not my fault. I have a magnetic personality."

"Well..." he starts off. "Uh..." he pauses for a second and looks at me. "Shit. You stumped me."

I look at him in confusion.

"Stumped you? How?"

"I was trying to think of a sexy comeback about magnets and opposites. I couldn't think of one that didn't sound totally lame," he confesses.

"I would have accepted 'opposites attract'" I answer, trying not to laugh.

It was pretty lame.

"See?" he shakes his head. "It's embarrassing."

"Yeah," I admit. "It's pretty bad."

"It's not as bad as telling you that your shirt makes your arms look nice," he laughs at me.

Shit. I was hoping he forgot.

"Really?" I blush at the memory. "Asshole."

"If it makes you feel better that was the sexiest attempt at a cheesy pick up line ever," he smiles at me and parks the car.

"Thanks. I think," I raise an eyebrow.

The restaurant seems to be packed. People are waiting on the sidewalk to get seated. I hear a a violin in the background. I peek in the outside eating area to see a musician's corner and a beautiful fountain. Bulb lights hang from the sky to give the appearance of an Italian villa.

"Don't worry," Edward assures me. "I have connections. We won't have to...oof!" he stumbles, as someone bumps into him. He falls into some shrubbery.

"Watch it, asshole!" I yell at the man who rushes away. "Are you okay?" I ask, helping Edward up.

"Yeah," he brushes himself off. "People are dicks," he hisses.

"Who are you telling? I'm a lawyer," I chuckle. "Most of the people in my profession are dicks. Women included."

"I've heard," he limps to the front desk.

Edward was right. We didn't have to wait for a table at all. The hostess sits us in a round booth on the wall. The restaurant is really nice. The motif from outside carries to the inside. There is greenery everywhere with beautiful tile flooring. The fountain in the center of the floor matches the one I saw outside. The smell of fresh baked bread fills the air and I'm afraid Edward heard my stomach growl.

"This is nice," I state the obvious.

"I was scared that you may have been here before," he admits. "Nothing is worse than going on a date somewhere you've been a thousand times."

"It could be," I nod.

Honestly, I wouldn't know. Peter and I never really dated. We only went out on obligatory romantic events like Valentine's Day or our anniversary. Romanticism is not Peter's strong suit.

"I'm sorry this is such short notice," he apologizes. "I work crazy hours. This was the only time I had off. Plus, I didn't want you to forget about me."

"Please," I give him the side eye. "You have to know that you rank pretty low on the 'forgetful' scale," I tell him. "Those eyes. That smile," I raise an eyebrow.

"My hair," he finishes my statement.

I chuckle at his compliment to himself. He knows he's attractive. How can he not? I can tell that he doesn't define himself by how he looks.

"Your humbleness astounds me," I touch my heart.

"What?" he runs his fingers through his hair. "Ladies love the hair," he leans his head over to my shoulder. "Go on. Touch it," he invites me.

"Really?" I ask, looking around. Edward is wagging his head at me like a golden retriever. Everyone is staring. "Now?"

"You know you want to," he wiggles his eyebrows. "Please? My neck is starting to hurt."

"Fine," I run my fingers through his hair... his shiny, soft, voluminous and spiky hair.

He has great hair. I want to run my cheek over it.

Would that be too much?

"Wow," I gasp. "You have better hair than I do. It's not fair," I sigh.

"You have better legs," he reasons. "Also, you have boobs. Boobs trump hair any day of the week," he uses his position to stare at my chest.

I admit. I was flattered. I have a nice rack. They're not particularly big or small. A respectable C cup.

"Okay," I tug him upright by his hair. "You've seen enough."

"Hello," our waitress smiles. "My name is Carter," she introduces herself. She leans down to our eye level to give Edward a pretty nice view of her chest. Bitch. "Is there _anything_ I can get you?" she looks him in the eye.

"I'll have a raspberry martini," I order, wrapping my arm with Edward's. "He'll have a Jack and Coke," I rest my head on my date's shoulder and give Carter the fiercest bitch face I can muster.

"O-okay," she backs up and straightens her clothes. "I'll get on that."

"Yeah," I snuggle into Edward. "You should."

Bitch.

"Ouch" Edward whispers and starts to chuckle.

"What?" I turn to look at him. "We're obviously on a date and she's shoving her chest in your face."

"Hey," he raises his hands in mock surrender. "I'm not judging. I liked that you metaphorically peed on me. It's sexy."

He smiles that crooked smile again and I momentarily forget that I'm mad. Momentarily.

"Whatever," I shrug. "She's a fucking bitch," I look at her. She's staring at Edward from the bar and trying to point at our table nonchalantly. Great. Now the bartender is looking. "You're not giving her a tip," I notify him.

"Rawr," he growls, sending chills to my pussy.

I wonder if he does that in bed?

I'm such a slut. Kate would be proud.

I feel my cheeks go red. That's the third time today. That's got to be a record.

"You have a cute blush," he runs his nose across my cheek.

"Oh God."

"You've been doing a terrible job of hiding it," he teases, tucking my hair back behind my ear.

"Shut up."

"I wonder if it glows in that dark," he asks.

A soft buzzing sound interrupts our banter.

"Sorry," he quickly checks his phone. He looks at my and looks back to his phone and mutters a quick "Shit," before putting the phone back in his pocket.

"Is something wrong?" I ask.

Oh God! He's doing the emergency phone call. I can't believe this is happening. I start gathering my things. I'm going to leave with a shred of...

"No," he denies. "It's my daughter. She's got some sort of stomach virus. She just blew chunks all over my new sofa," he pouts.

Thank God.

I'm such a spaz. Nobody does that.

"Yikes," I cringe. I can't imagine someone spewing vomit on my sofa. It's chenille.

"Yeah," he chuckles. "That's my girl," he smiles, like he's thinking of her.

"She's beautiful," I tell him, remembering the cute copper headed girl whose picture he showed me last night.

"Thanks," he takes out his phone to show me more pictures. "She's my world," he beams. I giggle at the photo of the little girl with cake all over her face. "She had her 5th birthday a few weeks ago," he informs, showing another shot of her hugging a life sized Barbie doll.

"What's her name?"

"Elizabeth," he grins with pride. I can tell that she means everything to him. My dad used to smile that way with me. "We call her Lizzie for short. She's named after my mother."

He starts telling the story behind each adorable photo. Elizabeth seems to be a sassy and precocious little girl.

"Your mom must be so proud," I smile, looking at the pictures.

"She passed away," he mumbles, putting his phone away. An uncomfortable silence envelopes the table and I know I must have overstepped.

"Oh. I'm sorry," I apologize. "I didn't know."

"It's okay," he waves it off.

It's not okay. I can tell by the look on his face. I screwed up.

"So..." I lead off, looking at my food and trying to think of something to say. "Are you from..."

"Sorry," he sighs, looking at his phone again. "It's work."

Work?!

Shit! He **is** doing the emergency call. This is perfect...just perfect.

"If you need to leave," I start gathering my things.

"No!" he touches my hand. "It's just that I'm working on something. I can't have anyone messing it up," he looks down at his plate. "It's nerve-wrecking."

"I know," I nod my head. "Sometimes, I feel like the associates can't wipe their asses without me."

"Have any of them ever needed help?" he leans forward, as if he's expecting some gossip.

"No," I chuckle. "I'd fire them before they finished their sentence," I gasp at him. "Ew."

"I'm just checking," he excuses, taking a bite of his steak.

"What do you do?" I ask, figuring this conversation was a nice lead.

The loud clank of his fork hitting his plate signals that I must have said something wrong. Again.

"Uh..." he takes a sip of water and grabs a napkin.

"What?" I lean forward to parrot his earlier movement. "Are you Batman?

"What?" his coughing continues.

"I knew it," I facepalm myself. "I knew it. You're all mysterious and broody."

"No," he looks around and leans in further. "I'm..." he pauses. "A prostitute," he whispers, looking around to see if anyone can hear him.

"WHAT?!" I scream.

"I thought you knew."

All of the air in my lungs escapes my body and I start coughing uncontrollably. I knew he was attractive but... come on.

Oh my God!

I'm on a date with a working man.

Everyone is going to find out.

I'm going to lose all my clients.

That's what Jane was laughing about. That bitch!

"Joke. Joke," he starts patting my back. "That was a joke. I was expecting you to laugh," he smooths my back.

Oh.

"Asshole," I regain my breath.

"An honest asshole," he corrects. "I'm not suave enough to be a hooker. I'm not rich enough to be Batman either. So sorry about that," he apologizes.

"Asshole," I repeat.

"I have a handkerchief," he searches his pockets. "It's right next to my..." he leads off. "What the..." he takes his blazer off to look inside. "Shit," he hisses, checking his pockets.

"Everything okay?" I raise an eyebrow. I'm half expecting another stunt.

"I can't find my wallet," he throws his head in his hands.

"Sure," I giggle at him. He's not going to get me again.

What man goes on a date and leaves his wallet?

"Noooo," he shakes his head. "This isn't a joke. My wallet isn't in here," he motions to his jacket. "I could have sworn..."

One look at the embarrassment on his face and I know he's telling the truth.

"Shit," I gaze at all the food and drinks we ordered.

"Fuuuuuuck," he calls out.

"I can cover it," I reach for my purse.

"Bella..."

"I kinda don't have a choice," I remind him. "It's cool," I pick up my purse. My tiny purse. My tiny purse that couldn't fit anything but a compact mirror, my cellphone and a tube of lipstick. The purse that I argued with Kate about because I thought it was too small. The one I decided to bring because I didn't think I'd need anything but a mirror, cellphone and lipstick.

Fuck.

"What?"

"This," I open my empty purse so show him. "Nothing."

"Oh God," he sighs, sinking down in this chair. "What are we gonna do?" he mumbles, creating a curtain with his napkin.

"Kate," I answer, taking out my phone. I dial her three times with no response.

I have a mental image of the two of us rolling up our sleeves in the kitchen. This is going to be so embarrassing.

Unless...

No.

I can't.

Can I?

"I have an idea," I whisper across the table.

"What is it?"

"It's... a lot less classy than I'd like to admit but it might work," I sigh. "Wait here," I grab a napkin, my phone and lipstick and get up from the table.

I can't believe I'm going to do this.

"You're not coming back. Are you?" he deadpans.

"I'll be back," I assure him. "Here," I put my bracelet on the table. "Collateral."

That piece of jewelry is very expensive. There is no way I'd leave it behind. I carefully tuck the napkin in my dress and make a quick exit.

I walk as quickly as I can to the parking lot. Timing on this is crucial. If the check comes before I can get back and place everything together it will cause suspicion.

"Alright," I pump myself up and gather my dress. "Where are you little buggers?" I get on my hands and knees to search for the perfect candidate. A grin pops up on my face when I spot it. "We have a winner," I say, opening the white cloth napkin onto the ground. "Come on," I coax the huge brown and black roach onto the napkin. "Sorry, kid," I gently close the napkin and press the tip of my thumb and forefinger to crush the bug. "It's for the greater good," I tell myself, before chopping the tip of my brand new MAC lipstick. I really liked that color. "Okay," I slide the dead bud into the newly evacuated lipstick container.

"My poor dress," I pout, getting up from the ground. I'll have to get a new one. Edward seemed to like me in it. Maybe I can get one in a different color. I bet it would look nice in red.

Carter is bringing us more drinks when I make it back to the table. A huge sigh of relief comes to his face when I return.

"She was talking about bringing the bill. I stalled her," he smiles at his quick thinking. "So?"

"We'll have to see," I take out my mirror. I take out the tube of lipstick and act like I'm checking my makeup. Next, I gently tap the bug onto my plate.

"Is that a..."

"Yes," I bow my head and stir my food. "I'm not proud of it but we have no other options."

"That's not going to work," he hisses at me.

"It might work," I counter. "I've seen it work," I ask.

My dad pulled this trick a hundred times. He always liked to see what he could get away with. He didn't care that he had money. I should have known he was a criminal. However, he carried bugs in a bag with him in his pocket for occasions like this.

"Shit. Here she comes," he rests his forehead on his knuckles.

"When the time comes...play it cool," I advise him.

"It's not..."

"Playitcool," I rush out.

"How are we doing?" the waitress asks. This time she's only staring at Edward.

That's better.

Look. Don't flash.

"Lovely," I smile, stirring my pasta. I see the dead bug in the vicinity of the fork. I twist the pasta between my spoon and fork. "Actually, we spotted the tiramisu on the menu," I point to Edward. "I think we'd like to share..." I look at Carter's face and see her eyes get huge. "What?" I ask, knowing what she's looking at.

"Uh.." she looks around frantically.

"What wrong?" I ask Edward. "Is something on my...Oh my God!" I cry out, dropping my fork. "Oh my God!"

"Bella..."

"Bug," I start gagging. "Bug! There's a bug in my food," I dry heave.

"Shit," Carter moves toward me. "I'm so so..."

"I think I ate a piece of it," my voice cracks and I show Edward the pasta with the bug in it.

"What the fuck?" Edward questions. You can hear the irritation in his voice.

"Ew," I start whimpering. "Edward," I start fanning myself.

"Alright," a man in a suit who is most likely the manager appears. "I hear we have a problem."

"Yes," I point to the pasta in question.

"Oh my," he looks shocked. "I am so sorry. Is there anything we can..."

"How about investing in pest control?" Edward seethes.

I look at him. He's struggling not to smile. He's going to give us away. I bring attention back to myself.

"First Carter hits on my boyfriend. Then, I find a bug in my food," I start quivering my lip.

"Well uh...your entire bill is on the house," he smiles. "Your next meal..."

"You think we'd come back here?" Edward asks. "We came here for dinner not to be contestants on Fear Factor."

"Just come to the back and sign a waiver and agree never to..."

"Whatever," I huff. "I just want this night to be over."

We go to the manager's office. Once he apologizes for the umpteenth time, we sign a waiver and we go on our way. They even gave us vouchers for the other restaurants in their chains.

"I must admit that was a good plan," he relents.

"I know," I gloat. "Daddy always told me the best things in life are free. If they aren't, there is a way to get them for free anyway," I recite.

"A wise one," he sighs. I'm not sure if I imagine it. I think I saw him roll his eyes and chuckle to himself.

"Very," I nod.

"You sound like you have a good relationship with your father," he starts. "What's the story there?" he asks, interested.

I feel the emotion drop from my face. My father is a very sore subject for me.

"There is no story," I lie. My father's criminal history as an international criminal is not first date talk. It's not even third date talk. There is no way I'm going there.

"Come on," he nudges me. "You seemed pretty into his philosophy."

"I won't go that far," I deny. "You pick up on a few parlor tricks. It doesn't make you a disciple," I roll my eyes.

My father taught me some tricks. It was before I knew how he learned them. After I found out who he was I started to resent him for it. A majority of the bonding time we'd spent together was him teaching me criminal behavior. Nothing good came from his knowledge. I was forced to learn that lesson after my father left and took everything with him. Everything. As a result, I made a vow to be on the right side of the law.

"Still," he shrugs. "He seems pretty cool."

"I haven't seen him in twelve years so..." I lead off, hoping to end the conversation.

"That sucks," he sighs. "You haven't..."

"No," I cut him off. I use my 'tough bitch' voice that I use at work. "Drop it," I order, crossing my arms.

I hated talking about my father. I kept my father's identity a close guarded secret. The only people who know are my mother, Kate and Peter. I've always been afraid of people reactions to Charlie's profession. Kate seemed to be fascinated with his behavior. My mother can't talk about him five minutes without crying. Peter's reaction was the worst. I waited until we got engaged before I told him. I figured he had a right to know that his father in law was on Interpol's Most Wanted list. The way he looked at me was unbearable. He judged me.

"Sorry," he mumbles. "I didn't mean to upset you."

"No one ever does," I huff, as the car stops in front of my building. "Thank you for dinner," I get out of the car.

"Let me walk you..."

"Have a nice night," I wave to him and hope I can make it into my building without crying.


End file.
